


Reverse It (Take it Back)

by njw



Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [11]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Age Reversal, Angst, Batfamily Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Love, Found Family, Humor, JayTim Week 2020, JayTimWeek, M/M, Referenced Threats of Non Con, Reverse Robins, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Tim hunches his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable with the Waynes’ solicitous attention. He can’t let them keep fussing over him, not when they have no idea why he’s really here. It feels wrong. He’s pretty sure they’re not going to want to be so kind to him once they know.At his silence, Damian and Helena exchange a glance over his head. Something seems to pass between them and then Helena sighs, leaning close to bump her shoulder against his. “I know it must be terrible for you right now, Tim. We… Well. We lost our parents suddenly and violently as well. If you need to talk—”Okay, he can’t stand this anymore. “I know you’re Batwoman and Batman!” Tim blurts out, then feels his face grow hot as he realizes what he just said. That wasnothow he planned to break the news.*For thetumblr Jaytim Weekday three First Love | Robin Reversal prompt.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Jaytim Week Prompt Oneshots and Stories [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1356295
Comments: 411
Kudos: 630
Collections: JayTimWeek





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just jumping in to let you know that from here on out, none of my Jaytim Week stories for this year’s event have been beta'd. With the timing and effects of the pandemic shutdown, I ended up losing a few weeks of writing time in late March and then a few more in April as I dealt with work and family-related things that came up. I’m fortunate enough to be able to work from home and retain most of my usual salary minus an across the board cut in pay and PTO my company chose to implement, but it’s still been an adjustment adapting to doing so with my husband in the next room working, our housemate in the kitchen on conference calls all day, and my two small children underfoot needing care and, for the older one, help with his incessant flow of online kindergarten work (it's a constant source of puzzlement to me how many separate logins, apps, and emails are involved in that. On the bright side, he’s been reading Batman books out loud to his two year-old sister, which is fun for everyone. Yay reading!). 
> 
> Anyway, my writing time has always existed in a thin margin between other things that need my attention, but for a while there it was pinched to nothing. Once I adapted to my new schedule and carved out writing time again, I realized it was pretty much a choice between finishing all the rest of the stories and posting them on time with minimal review, or taking them through beta and likely stretching the posting schedule out to leave room for addressing the more labor-intensive comments (“Hmm, this seems pretty rushed—it would help to add another chapter here instead of ruthlessly skipping such a long stretch of time” “Holy god how is all of this just ONE sentence?? It just… keeps on going, dear god why” “This made me laugh so hard I did a spit-take and now my cat is staring at me. Also, it’s pretty rushed and might be better if you actually write out some of the bits you tried to just gloss over in that one paragraph full of exposition you hoped no one would notice”). 
> 
> I adore my betas and their comments and I know they would have helped strengthen these stories, but I decided at this point I just need the minimal stress of writing and posting, with the satisfaction of being able to finish and then move on to other projects. 
> 
> Whew, that’s the longest and most personal author’s note I’ve ever written. These are extraordinary times and I know we’re all facing extraordinary disruption and hardships in our daily lives, even if the difficulties are unevenly spread across demographics and geography. I hope you’re all somewhere safe and doing well, and if you aren’t, I hope that things get better. Please take care of yourselves, and try to be kind. We’ll make it through this. ❤️
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning this chapter for child abandonment, supporting character death.

Thomas Wayne raises his tea cup and drinks deeply, savoring the warmth, and then sits back in his chair with a quiet sigh. He is thoroughly enjoying his morning. The newspaper is open on the table before him, his fiancée Martha is planning to join him presently for a late brunch, and the hospital surgery is running smoothly enough for him to actually take a weekend off for once.

He’s in a wonderful mood.

Of course, that’s the moment when Julia steps briskly into the room with an uneasy look on her face. The petite brunette is the picture of efficiency from her smooth wings of dark hair, pulled up in a sensible hairstyle, to her crisp uniform and subdued but impeccably clean shoes. She’s young for a housekeeper—just turned twenty-one last month—but her mother served the Wayne family for decades, and she practically grew up underfoot in this house.

He has fond memories of when she was a little girl running after him with scraped knees and other small hurts for him to bandage. Even as a teenager he always had an inclination toward healing, and young Julia gave him plenty of opportunities to exercise his budding talents.

By her expression, he suspects that she is not here to announce anything so pleasant as Martha’s arrival or brunch being ready. Thomas sighs again and lowers his tea cup with regret. The peaceful moment was pleasant while it lasted. “Yes, Julia?” Perhaps this will be something which can be dealt with quickly.

“There is a young lady here to see you,” she says, a single dark eyebrow twitching up. “She is waiting in the front salon.” Julia was trained by the best and would never do anything so gauche as to appear curious, but he watched her grow up. It’s obvious to him that she’s dying to know what’s going on.

He’s rather curious himself. “Thank you, Julia. That will be all.” He nods a dismissal, then looks at her inquiringly when she lingers.

She clears her throat. “Excuse me, sir… but she isn’t alone.” Her face doesn’t give any of her thoughts or feelings away when she continues. “There is a child as well.”

Utterly mystified, Thomas rises, nodding to Julia before he makes his way down the hall toward the room in question. Perhaps a former patient came to pay him a visit? Occasionally, grateful family members wish to come and thank him in person for performing life-saving surgical procedures on their loved ones. Or perhaps it’s distant relatives, coming out of the woodwork to beg for a handout now that he’s making a name for himself.

All of those thoughts fly from his mind the moment he enters the front salon and sees Selina Kyle, reclining languidly on the chaise longue. She looks entirely at home and not at all as though this is the first time he’s set eyes on her in—good heavens, has it really been nearly six years?

“Tommy,” Selina says warmly, flashing the dazzling grin that charmed him so thoroughly back when he was fresh out of med school and still believed that he could save the world, one patient at a time. Now he knows the world will never stop needing to be saved. He tries anyway.

“Selina,” he murmurs, confused and not entirely pleased at this unexpected visit by one of his former lovers. Martha is going to arrive at any moment. The thought of the two of them meeting causes him to wince internally. A dramatic scene would be unpleasant. The possibility of the two of them getting along well, and most likely swapping stories at his expense, might be even worse.

“Tommy,” Selina says again, her smile fading. She suddenly seems older, lines of worry and exhaustion appearing on her still-lovely face. “I—” she says, and then hesitates, swallowing before she continues. “There’s something I probably should have told you years ago.”

Thomas experiences a rising sense of dread, sensing something looming before him—something which might just shift his world on its axis.

Six years.

Julia mentioned a child, but… He blinks, his heart twisting as an impossible thought obtrudes itself. Surely not. Perhaps Selina has a sick child, and came to him seeking aid?

He glances around in search of the child in question and notices the French doors onto the terrace are open. Outside, it’s a rare beautiful day, sunny with billowy white clouds floating lazily across the blue sky. Songbirds trill and flutter over the flower-dappled green lawn. A light breeze rustles the elm trees and the windchimes murmur softly in the background. In the distance, he can hear a child’s voice calling out and then laughing merrily. 

Thomas turns back to Selina and looks at her, unable to bring himself to speak. His voice is lodged in his throat and he feels unaccountably cold despite the warm day. Somehow, he is certain that he already knows what she’s going to tell him.

“We have a child, a daughter.” She regards him warily, then closes her eyes for a brief moment at whatever expression is on his face. Her shoulders are tense and she looks miserable.

He sits down. Rather, he collapses. Fortunately, he is standing directly in front of the wingback chair and thus manages to avoid crashing to the floor when his legs give out beneath him. He falls into the seat and then sways slightly, feeling lightheaded as he takes in the full enormity of her disclosure. “What?” he whispers, gripping the cushion. He feels as though if he doesn’t hold on to something, the earth itself might just slip right out from beneath his feet.

Selina winces, her hands twisting in her lap before she forces them still. “I was young,” she says, voice low. He can’t imagine her begging, but right now her vivid green eyes seem to implore him to understand. “We were… Well. A happy mistake.” Her gaze sharpens as she examines his face. “One that was already over by the time I realized I was—” She breaks off with a sigh and looks down before continuing, softer. “When I found out about Helena, I realized I had a decision to make.”

His thoughts feel like treacle. Helena. His daughter’s name is Helena. “It wasn’t only your decision,” he manages after too long a silence. “I would have—”

“What?” Selina snaps, straightening. “Paid me off? Taken my baby and raised her with a more _suitable_ mother?” Her jaw clenches and her hands tighten into fists as she glares at him.

“Married you,” Thomas finishes quietly, disarming her in one blow with the simple truth. He would have done it, he knows, and they would have contrived a future together. Surely, he could have carved time out of his schedule for a family, even if his career suffered for it.

As for Selina, well, all of her arguments at the time that she never wanted to settle down and raise a family—the very reasons she gave when she told him a long-term relationship would never work between them—appear to have given way in the face of an unplanned pregnancy. They could have made it work. He feels a momentary sense of loss as he imagines what their life together might have been.

He isn’t in love with Selina anymore, but his heart still remembers how to love her. There’s a part of him that will always miss her.

Selina rocks back, her eyes wide and stunned. She draws in a shaky breath before answering. “Ah,” she says with a rueful smile. “I didn’t expect that. Excuse me.” Sniffing loudly, she blinks rapidly a few times, then shakes her head before wiping carefully at her eyes. “It’s good to know, even if…” She shakes her head again, firmly, and he wonders if she’s beset by the same sweet sense of nostalgia as he is over their shared past. “Anyway, it wouldn’t have worked out.”

He tries to interrupt, but she speaks over him. “No, it really wouldn’t. Actually, for the same reason I’m here now. Thomas, I lied to you all those years ago. I was never a secretary. I’m a thief.” She stares at him, clearly awaiting his reaction to her absurd claim.

Thomas chuckles, his eyebrows soaring in surprised disbelief. What a ridiculous notion. He can’t imagine what she might be after by making such a ludicrous statement, but he’s willing to be diverted if only because it takes his mind off the thunderous realization that he’s a father. “Selina, now really—”

“No, I’m serious. Do you remember the break-in at the museum, right after we started dating? When that Picasso on loan from you was stolen right out from under the guards’ noses by Catwoman?” She lifts a brow and smirks. “Well, I suppose it hardly counts as a theft when the so-called guards were far more interested in reading the dirty magazines they had hidden in their break room than they were in actually guarding anything.” She chuckles, running delicate fingers through her short black hair.

He leans forward, amused disbelief draining at her words. “Selina,” he says slowly, “those details were never released to the public. You’re really—?” It seems impossible.

As impossible as him having unknowingly fathered a child.

She nods, a fleeting sadness crossing her face. “I never meant to hurt you,” she begins. “Yes, I was planning the theft when I first got close to you. _No,”_ she says, shaking her head fiercely when she sees his no doubt pained expression. He can’t help but wince as he considers the implications. “I did _not_ pursue you romantically out of any ulterior motive. Everything between us was real, I promise. With you, I could just… forget, for a while.” She shrugs, closing her eyes briefly as though she can’t bring herself to meet his accusing gaze. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

It isn’t the long ago loss of the painting that sends his heart sinking as he reexamines every sweet memory between them for signs of manipulation, each innocent laugh and teasing touch now rendered suspect. It’s the loss of trust, and regret for his own naive younger self.

Thomas frowns, his mind moving past the confessed betrayal and beginning to consider the ramifications of Selina having been an internationally notorious thief. The child… Catwoman hasn’t been active in years. News stories have claimed everything from death to a name change to incarceration in another country. Apparently, they all had it completely wrong. There is only one explanation which makes sense, knowing what he does now. “Did you retire to raise our child?”

“Yes, temporarily. But it isn’t safe anymore—it never really was. I have enemies, so many people I’ve crossed over the years. I _can’t_ continue to expose Helena to those risks.” Selina’s face twists, then smooths into a mask of serenity. “I owe her the best chance in life, and right now… That’s not me.” Another ripple of pain crosses her lovely face.

He shakes his head, finally seeing what she intends to do. He’s experiencing the closest thing to panic he has felt in a long while. “Selina, wait. You can’t just leave—you’re her mother. She doesn’t even know me!”

Selina draws in a deep breath and then releases it, visibly calming herself. Her stunning eyes glint with unshed tears. “She’s a big girl now. Just turned five yesterday.” Her voice catches and wavers before she gives him a watery smile. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry, Tommy, won’t you?”

“Won’t you tell her yourself? Please.” Thomas isn’t above begging. He can’t do this on his own. He’s not fit to raise a child, let alone one brought up under who knows what conditions by a self-admitted cat burglar. Setting that aside, what in heaven’s name will Martha think of all this? He has no right to expect her to be understanding, but his first duty from now on must be to his child. 

“I’ve never liked goodbyes.” Selina’s voice breaks and she closes her eyes, clearly struggling. He looks away politely, giving her a moment to compose herself.

Something outside catches his attention and Thomas glances through the French doors again, his brow furrowed. That sounded very much like _two_ voices out there. Perhaps Julia went outside to keep the child company?

“Don’t you think—” he begins, turning back to the room and then breaking off at what he sees. Or rather, what he doesn’t see. The chaise longue is empty. “Selina,” he whispers sorrowfully, staring at the empty space she filled a moment ago. He fights back a stab of grief and loss. It’s uncomfortably similar to the feelings he experienced when she left the first time, all those years ago.

The child—good lord, his _daughter_ —laughs again, innocently unaware that her mother has just disappeared from their lives.

Thomas has no idea how to even begin to handle this. How on earth is he ever going to explain it to Martha? He wants to turn around and hide from the entire situation. But there’s a child at stake, a little girl. His child. Swallowing, he turns to the French doors, then steps through into the bright, balmy August day.

He’s astonished to discover Helena and Martha together in the garden, weaving daisy chains and laughing at the butterflies which are trying to land on them. He watches them for a long moment, his heart full and eyes stinging at the picture they make together. Martha’s long brown hair spills down to brush against the child’s black waves as they bend their heads close, Martha’s elegant hands tenderly guiding the little girl in making her chain into a pretty flower crown. Martha looks up and sends him a speaking glance filled with understanding.

That’s when he begins to hope that things might just work out after all.

“Hello, Helena,” he says softly, dropping carefully to his knees beside them. “I’m—”

“My Papa,” the little girl interrupts, turning a bright, inquisitive, gaze his way. He sucks in a breath, startled at how much she resembles him. There’s no way Martha didn’t guess the truth the moment she saw her.

Thomas darts a mildly panicked glance at Martha, but she appears serenely unsurprised. Instead of reacting with shock or dismay, his beautiful, wonderful wife-to-be merely turns to him with a gentle smile. “I hope you don’t mind—Helena and I have been getting to know one another.”

Wondering how much the child has told her, he watches her carefully as he says, “I believe Helena is going to be staying.”

Martha merely smiles softly down at the little girl, whose black hair glints in the sunlight as she continues to weave her little pile of flowers into a crown. “I guessed as much,” she says. “I think we’ll be very glad to have her, don’t you?”

Too overcome to speak, all Thomas can do is nod and wonder what he ever did to deserve her.

She chuckles softly and hands him a half-plaited chain of daisies. “Here,” she says with a smile, “you need a crown, too.”

Bemused, he allows Helena to give him a lesson in weaving flowers. A short time later, he finds himself bedecked with a lopsided crown of flowers of his own while his wife-to-be and daughter laugh merrily. It isn’t the morning he’d planned to have—not even close. And yet, his heart is filled with hope and something that might be joy.

They’re going to make this work. 

* * *

Helena nudges forward carefully on her knees, keeping a cautious eye out for Julia or Mama Martha. It wouldn’t do to be caught listening at the keyhole. Still, she’s far too curious to just play in her room or read right now. There’s a beautiful woman in there with Papa, and she brought a solemn-eyed little boy with her.

The woman glanced at Helena as Julia showed them in. The expression she saw on that lovely face gives her chills just remembering it. It seemed to be made of cold calculation and ruthlessness, underlain by something fierce and predatory.

When the woman smiled, it made Helena want to run away. But her voice was kind when she greeted her and asked her to go fetch her Papa. Nothing like this has ever happened in the four years she’s been living with Papa and Mama Martha, ever since Mama had to go away.

Helena blinks, then shuts down that line of thought. She has found that it’s better not to think about Mama in between the occasional postcards and letters that arrive from far-off places, none of which ever have a return address. It hurts less if she doesn’t dwell on how much she still misses her.

But that little boy… He looks the way she felt, back when Mama brought her to this big house and told her she’d be visiting with her Daddy for a while. She hadn’t said ‘a while’ was going to turn out to be forever, but Helena knew.

The little boy looks like he knows, too. 

“I _couldn’t,”_ the woman is saying, her brown eyes flashing. “My father would have had you _killed._ He is far more dangerous than you could ever know. Those years he allowed me to run away and play at being my own person—I will always treasure them. And Damian, my precious child, came from that experience—how could I ever regret it? But you must understand, I could not tell you of his existence. Not without putting all our lives at risk.”

“But…” Papa looks devastated, running his blunt fingers through his dark hair and glancing back and forth between the woman and the child, who is perched tensely beside his mother on the settee. “Talia, I don’t understand,” he says plaintively. “Your father—”

“Is an assassin, and runs a secret group of assassins. He is more powerful than you could ever imagine. Believe me, you never want to meet him. It will be your end if you do.” Talia’s dark eyes flash again and her jaw clenches. She shakes her head, waves of lovely dark hair swaying softly with her movements. “I am giving you Damian to spare him the same harsh life I have been forced to lead. He has been trained since his infancy, but he has not yet been forced to kill. I…” She pauses, shuddering. “I wish to spare him that horror, at least. If I can.”

Helena blinks, then looks at the boy again. He’s so small. None of what this woman is talking about seems like it should have any bearing on him.

“My god,” Papa says, turning to stare at the little boy as well. “Trained? What kind of _training_ could they subject a _six year-old_ to that might end in him _killing?”_

Talia looks very tired. “If you ever loved me at all, then please trust me when I say you don’t want to know.” She sets her shoulders and looks at him squarely. “You must take him.”

“Talia, I can’t just—” Papa throws a worried glance at the boy, who is clutching his mother’s skirt.

That fierce, desperate expression from before crosses Talia’s face again, and Helena realizes with a jolt that she was mistaken before. It’s not predatory—it’s protective.

“I had to make a deal with the devil for this chance. My loyalty for Damian’s freedom.” Talia inhales deeply, an agonized expression crossing her face before it fades to a neutral mask. “I will never escape my father, but Damian—he can. This is his one chance. Please, I beg of you. Do not disappoint me.”

With that she rises, clearly intent on departure. Helena barely has time to scramble away and hide in the stairwell before the door flies open. Talia sweeps down the hall with Papa hurrying after her, their murmured discussion quickly fading into the distance.

Helena doesn’t follow them. She knows enough now. She has a little brother, and there are bad people out there who might want to hurt him or force him to do bad things. Well, she’ll just have to get strong enough to be able to protect him herself, now that his mom can’t.

Stepping carefully into the mostly abandoned room, she focuses immediately on the little boy. He is smaller than she is, which makes sense if he’s just six. He has black hair like hers, but his eyes are green like his mother’s. Hers are blue like their father’s.

Their skin is the biggest difference—his is a wonderful golden brown. It reminds her of fall leaves and the coffee with just a hint of cream Papa likes to drink when he’s had a late night at work. Hers is lighter, although it’s not as pale as Papa’s.

Their faces, though… She smiles, pleased. Not only does he share a lot of their father’s bone structure with her, he’s staring at her with a very familiar expression. It’s exactly the same look she has on her face when she’s trying to figure something out. No one’s ever going to doubt that they’re siblings.

“Hello,” she says, and doesn’t miss the way he tenses, looking wary. “I’m your big sister Helena. It’s my job to take care of you.” His green eyes widen in an expression of surprise, and he’s so _cute._ She grins. Maybe this will be even more fun than she thought. “Only, if I’m going to protect you, I need to know how. I heard your mom say you had training?”

He blinks, then gives her a hesitant smile, like he isn’t sure it’s allowed. He looks even more like Papa when he smiles. “Yes,” he says, then narrows his eyes and puffs out his little chest. “My name is Damian, and I’m your brother. It’s _my_ job to protect you!”

Helena rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Can you train me, or not?”

He scoffs. “Of course I shall train you. What kind of protector would I be if I didn’t?”

Yes, she’s going to love having a little brother.

* * *

All the training and will in the world doesn’t mean anything in the end. When the man in the alley pulls out a gun and points it at them, Father shoves both Damian and Helena bodily behind himself to protect them. After that, it happens so fast.

None of Damian’s years of training and preparation were enough for this. There’s a ringing in his ears and everything seems to be moving in slow motion, like a terrible living nightmare. He stands frozen, able only to watch in horror as Father falls.

Father’s broad back—those strong shoulders which have carried him, laughing and trusting and safe—sinks slowly down in front of him as Father collapses to the filthy ground.

“No,” Damian manages to choke out. He starts to move forward with a snarl, and the gun jerks around to aim shakily at him.

Helena wraps her arms around him, yanking him back. “Don’t!”

The man with the gun begins backing away, scrabbling at something on the ground as he goes—are those Martha’s pearls? Damian begins to turn to look for her, concerned, and Helena grabs his face and forces it into her own shoulder. “Don’t look, Dami,” she sobs, shuddering. “Don’t look.”

He looks.

Martha lies huddled in a pool of blood just on the other side of the narrow alley. He swallows, feeling sick. “She might still be—”

Helena nods, and shakily releases him to check both their parents for signs of life. She follows the procedures their Father taught both of them, her small hands moving carefully to their pulse points heedless of the blood. Her face twists as she kneels on the cold ground, wet with more than rain, and she shakes her head. Her shoulders begin to shake.

Damian’s knees hit the ground painfully as he dives to her side, crashing into her and clinging desperately. “It isn’t fair,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “We only had each other for three years.” They were supposed to be a family forever. That’s what Mother promised him, back when she brought him here to save him from his grandfather’s cruel machinations.

His sister draws him into her arms and rocks him. “I know,” she says, gasping for breath as tears begin to course down her face. “It’s wrong. It’s _so wrong._ How could he? He took them away forever, and just for stupid handful of pearls!” Her voice breaks.

“Things like this shouldn’t be allowed to happen. Someone should stop it. This should never happen again.” Damian sniffs and hides his face in her shoulder so she won’t see him crying. Nine is too big to cry.

His sister’s hand stills where she’s been rubbing his back. “You’re right,” she breathes. “It shouldn’t. It _won’t.”_ Her voice is so fierce, he draws back to stare at her.

She’s just twelve years old, but kneeling there in the rain in that bloodstained alley, she looks every bit as terrifying and powerful as his mother.

Helena looks at him, eyes alight with something he doesn’t recognize, and smiles, knife-sharp. “We won’t _let_ it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thomas Wayne, sitting down with a sigh to enjoy his tea:** “Ah, a life of quiet contemplation and research—what more could man want?”  
>  **Selina, busting in and dropping off a kid:** “Yo I got something of yours” *Waves as she disappears into a string of European chateaus and Italian villas* “Bye sweetie, listen to your daddy!”  
>  **Thomas:** *Chokes on his tea*  
>  **Talia, poking her head in and then thrusting Damian into his arms:** “This one’s yours too. Btw he has assassin training”  
>  **Thomas, clutching both children:** “Wait WHAT” *Looks down at them with a tired sigh* “Uh, hello?” *Meets their adorable eyes, slowly smiles*  
> *  
>  **Helena and Damian, alone in the rain with their murdered parents:** “Welp, time to become Batman” *Glare broodingly into the night together*


	2. Chapter 2

Tim resists the urge to tug at the tight collar of his dress shirt. His mom eyes him, her gaze scanning his appearance from his carefully styled hair to his black oxfords. Apparently dissatisfied, she leans forward and briskly adjusts his bow tie.

“There,” she says as she leans back to view the effect. “You look very handsome, darling.” Tim’s dad steps up behind her and helps remove her coat. She turns to accept a kiss, then glances at Tim. “Come along now, Timothy. I’d like to introduce you to several of our potential investors—they simply adore children.”

He nods and hurries to keep up with them as they hand over their coats and enter the glittering, crowded ballroom. He follows his parents as they flit from group to group, all the while wishing he could tune out the boring discussions being conducted over his head. He knows better than to risk being caught not paying attention, though.

Tim patiently endures the head pats, patronizing comments, and general boredom of the next twenty minutes. He escapes as soon as it’s reasonably permissible to grab some heures d’oeuvres and hide in an alcove. His parents look the other way and allow it. Expectations aside, they understand that even a well-behaved nine year-old has his limits.

From his partially hidden vantage point—tucked away in a convenient alcove which is partially obstructed by a thick column—he nibbles at his food and scans the room. There’s Commissioner Gordon, deep in conversation with the mayor. Gordon’s gaze seems to be following the graceful figure of Julia Pennyworth, the Waynes’ housekeeper, as she moves quietly through the crowds directing the servers. Maybe he’s hungry?

On the other side of the room, Tim spots Helena Wayne talking to the chief administrator of Gotham City Hospital. She seems to be graciously accepting the chief administrator’s compliments for the evening’s entertainment. Considering the fact that the hospital is always one of the main recipients of donations raised during the Wayne Gala annual fundraiser, the man has good reason to be grateful.

Tim’s eyes narrow with interest. He focuses on Helena Wayne’s cheek as she turns, laughing. The silhouette of her cheekbone looks a little wrong somehow. Puffy, maybe, compared to the other side of her face. And… Is that—makeup? He frowns. In the bright light of the chandeliers, it looks as though she is wearing more cosmetics than her usual light application to the eyes and lips.

It kind of looks like she might be covering up a bruise.

Troubled, Tim frowns and stares at the wealthy business tycoon and philanthropist as she moves on to speak with a group of bankers and investors. Why would Helena Wayne have an injury like that? Surely, if she had been in a car accident or something, it would have been all over the news. And that swelling and positioning—it looks an awful lot like someone hit her.

Unbidden, the memory of watching Batwoman receive a brutal punch from Two Face last night rises in his mind. She probably looks a lot like Helena Wayne does right now—

Tim blinks, then shakes his head. That was a weird line of thought. Anyway, the idea of Helena Wayne getting into fistfights is laughable. But, so is the idea of her being punched by anyone. Considering her position as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, her security must be good enough to prevent attempted muggings.

As he watches, Helena’s younger brother joins her. Damian Wayne is just eighteen years old and only recently joined his sister working at Wayne Industries. Despite his relative youth, he has already earned a fearsome reputation for being ruthless, arrogant, and formidable.

Tim’s train of thought derails when he notices that Damian is limping slightly, favoring his right knee.

Killer Croc locked his jaws on Batman’s knee during their big fight two nights back, right before Batwoman dropped on him like an avenging fury and knocked him out by stomping repeatedly on his head.

No way.

It’s impossible—isn’t it? As Tim stares at the siblings, observations slot into place in his mind one by one like pieces of a puzzle. Batwoman and Batman first appeared about six months ago, right about when Damian Wayne returned from his years of overseas schooling and Helena Wayne reappeared after one of her many world traveling quests to ‘find herself,’ as she calls them.

Tim began sneaking out to follow and photograph the Bats on their patrols soon after their first appearance. He was thrilled at the chance to document real heroes in action. Well, he might have also been a little bored. His parents had been out of the country for close to a month at that point and weren’t due to return for another few months. The mystery of Batwoman and Batman gave him something exciting with which to occupy his time. Regardless of his motivations, he noticed a lot of details while observing the pair.

The vigilante duo have to be wealthy themselves, or at least closely connected to wealth. Their gadgets and body armor alone probably cost more than most people make in a year. The Waynes fulfill that criteria easily _._

Damian Wayne seems oddly prone to injury for a budding young businessman and socialite—since his return from abroad, he’s had a limb in a cast no fewer than three times. He always has some story to explain things away, usually involving a bout of clumsiness during his many inadvisable sporting ventures. Thinking back, Tim is pretty sure he can connect each of those occasions to big fights between Batman and some rogue.

Helena Wayne doesn’t get hurt as often—at least, not visibly. However, she is prone to canceling her entire social calendar with little notice and then disappearing for a week or two. She usually cites a need to visit one of her favorite retreats to restore her inner peace, whatever that means. Tim’s breath catches. The last couple of times she did that, the timing definitely matches up to fights he observed between Batwoman and Poison Ivy or Scarecrow.

Holy crap.

As Tim continues to watch the pair easily charm donations out of Gotham’s elite, his theories crystallize into certainty. Helena and Damian Wayne are Batwoman and Batman. He’s numbly contemplating the implications of that revelation when another realization locks into place, bringing with it a stab of pity.

If the Waynes are actually Batwoman and Batman, then they must have begun training in secret many years ago. Those skills take a long time to develop. Tim has wondered off and on over the past months what the Bats’ reasons might be for doing what they do—he can’t even imagine being in a place in his life where running around risking everything each night for little to no thanks would be something he’d want. Now, as he watches Damian Wayne taking his sister’s hand and escorting her to the next group of potential benefactors, he thinks he knows.

After all, it’s Gotham’s most infamous tragedy. Twelve years ago, Thomas and Martha Wayne were murdered in Crime Alley, right in front of their two young children. There was no other family, so the kids were raised by their housekeeper after losing their parents.

Tim’s heart twists, pity and sympathy rushing through him. He’s pretty sure Damian was just about his own age when it happened.

Right then and there, Tim decides to keep following the Bats and documenting their heroism. They deserve to have someone know and appreciate what they’ve been through, everything they’ve sacrificed and given up for Gotham.

Even if no one else ever knows but him.

Stuffing the last heures d’oeuvre into his mouth, he hurries out of his hiding place toward the center of the ballroom where he can see his mother, scanning the room impatiently.

“Darling,” she says, her expression lightening as she spots him. “Come along—there are more people we’d like you to meet.”

Resigning himself to another few hours of excruciating boredom, Tim nods and puts on his best earnest young up-and-coming businessman expression. “Of course, Mother.” As she turns her back on him and begins moving briskly towards a group of stodgy-looking old businessmen, he glances across the ballroom. Damian and Helena Wayne are working their way through the guests together now. As he watches, they pause to speak with a handsome young reporter from Metropolis. They seem friendly with him. Damian is laughing with a happy, open expression at something the reporter just said. Maybe they’re investigating a case. Well, that’s interesting.

At least Tim will have something to keep his mind occupied during boring galas from now on. He darts one last glance at the Wayne siblings, and smiles.

* * *

_Snap._

Tim doesn’t breathe as he aims the camera and waits for just the right moment to take the next picture. The fight is moving so fast, the next picture might be all he gets before the combatants move on. He edges forward, making sure he stays hidden in the shadows of the gargoyles he’s crouched among. The rooftop he’s on has a great view of the fight, but one wrong move and he may draw the attention of the fighters across the way.

He’s managed to make it over two years without being caught by the Bats. There’s no way he’s going to let it happen tonight.

On the rooftop opposite, Batman aims a punch at one henchman and wheels to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick to another man who’s trying to sneak up on him. The kick sends the unfortunate man flying right into a group of henchmen who were running toward the fight.

_Snap._

All of the henchmen around Batman go down, fast and hard, falling one after the other to his brutal punches and kicks. In the center of the roof, Batwoman is fighting the Joker. He cackles and tries to aim his boutonniere at her. “Lean in a little closer, Batsette! My henchmen are keeping Batsy busy, so let’s you and me have a little _fun._ Ha ha— _hey!”_ He gags as Batwoman unceremoniously punches him right in the throat.

“Shut up.” She shoves him down, wrenching the boutonniere off his chest and crushing it in her gauntlet as he crumples. The Joker curls into a ball at her feet, wheezing and grasping at his injured throat.

_Snap._

Tim lowers the camera and stares in awe as the vigilantes finish dealing with the henchmen and securing all of the fallen villains. The Bats are incredible. He has goosebumps just from watching them fight. Well, that might also be the cold. He shivers, wishing he had better outerwear, but his parents would probably get suspicious if he asked for anything more than light jackets. After all, he’s not really supposed to be out. 

“Next time, I call fighting the Joker,” Batman mutters, scowling. He sounds put out that he was stuck fighting henchmen the entire time. He tightens the zip ties on the wrists of the final henchman in a particularly vicious manner.

Batwoman smirks from where she’s hogtying the Joker and clearly not paying any particular attention to his comfort as she does so. Neither vigilante reacts as the villain groans slightly and twitches. “You got Two Face _and_ Penguin last week. It was my turn.” Batman snorts and shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

They both rise at the same time, pulling out grapnel guns and launching themselves into the air moments before police cars come careening down the street with sirens blaring. Tim can hear the vigilantes continue their amicable bickering as they disappear into the night.

So cool. He grins, covering his mouth to muffle an embarrassing little squeal. These pictures are going to be amazing. He slips away before the police make it up to the rooftop. It definitely wouldn’t be a good idea to get caught loitering in the area of a crime scene at this time of night—the last thing he needs is someone deciding to give his parents a call while they’re traveling.

He climbs nimby down the building, grateful as always for the ridiculously ornate embellishments which characterize most of Gotham’s architecture. All those intricate stonework details make for great hand- and foot-holds. As he climbs, he ponders the fight he just witnessed.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe that the ladylike, quiet, composed Helena Wayne is really Batwoman, the vicious and brutal vigilante—still less that Damian Wayne, known as a rich prick and pompous ass, is actually Batman. Tim has seen Batman tenderly gather a filthy, homeless child in his arms and use his own broad back to shield the boy from blows an attacker tried to land on him. He’s also seen Damian Wayne sneer and toss a hundred dollar bill in the trash because a bug landed on it.

Tim blinks, considering. Then he goes over the evidence in his mind again, just to be sure it all still fits. It does. Clearly the Bats are very good at wearing masks, and not just the vigilante kind. He shakes his head in awe at the amazing people they must be in order to devote themselves to such an incredibly challenging and risky, yet worthy cause.

It’s so awesome that he gets to be a part of this—even if it’s just to watch and _know._

Tim hurries through the shadowed streets, making his circuitous way home. He tries to constantly vary his routes just in case anyone ever notices him. It’s cold, damp, and a little miserable outside—a typical Gotham night—but he grins the whole way back. 

* * *

Everything is going well. Tim’s parents come home for a flying visit every few months, he’s continuing to build his secret collection of seriously awesome photos, and he’s getting pretty darn good at rooftop running after more than three years of practice.

Yeah, everything seems to be going great, right up until he’s twelve years old and his parents’ plane gets hijacked. Batwoman and Batman figure out where the Drakes are being held for ransom and try to save them—but they’re just a little bit too late.

As Tim watches the matching coffins sink slowly down into the open graves, the snow falling lightly on his face like frozen tears, he thinks that he’s starting to truly understand why Batman and Batwoman do what they do.

They fight injustice to prevent others from suffering the same terrible tragedies that tore their own lives apart. They honor their lost loved ones by saving others from the same fate. It’s admirable, Tim thinks, and it also presents an undeniable opportunity to constructively channel the directionless anger and pain at such senseless violence.

And, he decides in that moment, from now on, he’s going to do the same. No matter what it takes.

It doesn’t take much, in the end. He shows up at Wayne Manor the day after the funeral. Julia Pennyworth answers the door, an expression of surprise briefly crossing her face before she composes herself. Her usual calm demeanor settles over her like a mask, and he briefly wonders if this is where Helena and Damian learned that particular skill.

“Timothy Drake? My dear boy, we were all so terribly sorry to hear about your parents. But, what are you doing here?” She must recognize him from the many galas he’s attended over the years at Wayne Manor with his parents. That’s helpful.

Tim bites his lip, realizing with some amusement that he’s not going to have to work very hard to feign nervousness and distress. “Uh, sorry to bother you. It’s just—well, no one seems to have thought of what to do with me yet. I’ve been staying at the house by myself since before the funeral, and, well, the food’s starting to run a little low…” He looks down, feeling very small and lonely.

His story is true, although Gotham City’s child protective services aren’t quite so abysmal as to leave an orphan behind in his deceased parents’ home. At least, not without a little help. His hacking abilities were good enough to add a convenient uncle to his paperwork as his new legal guardian, buying him the time and freedom he needs to implement his plan.

Julia seems appalled at the revelation that he’s been living all by himself next door. “Good heavens,” she murmurs, clearly moved by his straits. “Come along, my dear boy. I’ll get Mistress Helena.” She leads him to the front parlor and leaves him there. His backpack feels heavier somehow now that he’s here and on the brink of confessing.

It must be only a few minutes before Julia returns, briskly carrying a loaded tea tray, but it feels like forever as Tim’s mind feverishly runs through possible ways the coming conversation might play out. He gratefully accepts a cup of steaming, fragrant tea. He’s happy to have something else to focus on. “Thanks,” he whispers with a shy smile. He hasn’t really talked to Ms. Pennyworth much before and her usual stern demeanor is a little intimidating from afar. Apparently, she’s much friendlier in person.

“Of course, child.” Julia smiles at him warmly. She pours two more cups of tea, then slips from the room with an encouraging nod as Helena and Damian Wayne enter.

“Tim!” Helena reaches for him immediately, slipping onto the couch beside him and pulling him gently into a comfortable side-hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Julia just told us you’ve been left alone due to some mix-up. We had no idea!” She squeezes him close and then releases him, busying herself with refreshing his tea. “Are you hungry? Julia said you’d run out of _food._ I think she’s making an entire platter of sandwiches for you right now.”

A stab of guilt makes him wince. They’re all being so nice to him.

Damian follows his sister more slowly, pausing to claim one of the tea cups left waiting on the coffee table. He seats himself sedately in the wingback chair to their right and then sips his tea before regarding Tim with a pained gaze. “Had we realized you were in need of aid, young Timothy, we would have moved to your aid immediately.”

Tim hunches his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable with their solicitous behavior. He can’t let them keep fussing over him, not when they have no idea why he’s really here. It feels wrong. He’s pretty sure they’re not going to want to be so kind to him once they know the truth.

At his silence, Damian and Helena exchange a glance over his head. Something seems to pass between them and then Helena sighs, leaning close to bump her shoulder gently against his. “I know it must be terrible for you right now, Tim. We… Well. We lost our parents suddenly and violently as well. If you need to talk—”

Okay, Tim can’t stand this anymore. “I know you’re Batwoman and Batman!” he blurts out, then feels his face grow hot as he realizes what he just said. That was _not_ how he planned to break the news.

They’re both staring at him, their previously friendly expressions sliding into a scary, inscrutable blankness. Maybe they’re trying to decide whether or not he’s a threat. The blood drains from his face and he sways slightly, his fingers trembling at the thought of them treating him like one of the many criminals he’s seen them take down. A tiny squeak slips out, not that he’ll ever admit it later.

Damian looks alarmed. “Timothy—” He rises to his feet and reaches forward as though to catch Tim if he faints.

Helena is more practical and simply drops her arm around his shoulders again. “Okay,” she says bluntly, “I think we’re going to need an explanation for what you just said.”

Tim winces and nods quickly. He closes his eyes because he doesn’t think he can say any of this with both of them just staring at him, judging. “Of course. I just… figured out who you really were a few years ago. I noticed you both seemed to have injuries that matched wounds received by Batwoman and Batman, and that you tended to disappear for a while after big fights they had. Once I noticed that, I realized lots of other things lined up, too—not to mention you have the financial wherewithal to bankroll vigilante weapons and gear. It all adds up.”

Damian’s voice answers, sounding surprisingly calm, considering the circumstances. “Even were we to entertain your outlandish theories—how would a child like you even know when and how those vigilantes were injured? The media reports are never so detailed and generally merely include a description of the villain and the fact that they were apprehended by Batwoman or Batman.”

Tim opens his eyes and turns to look at him, his brows rising. “Oh, I’ve been following Batwoman and Batman around on patrol since I was nine,” he says. Might as well tell them everything now that they know the biggest secret. “So, I know because I was there.”

Helena stiffens as her eyes go wide. “You—what? My god, the danger—”

Damian rocks back on his heels. “Nine,” he says faintly, looking ill. “I…” His gaze sharpens. “How do we know you are not merely claiming this so as to throw us off our guard?”

Tim smiles nervously and reaches for his backpack. He opens it under their watchful gazes and then pulls out his photo collection, which he sets on the coffee table for their perusal.

“Dear lord,” Helena says, leaning forward to gently thumb through one of his meticulously arranged scrapbooks. “Tim, these shots—”

Damian is glaring at the photos, but at his sister’s words he sits down on the couch on Tim’s other side to look at them more closely. He scans the visible photos, then frowns, pointing at one. “This photograph could only have been taken from a highly perilous vantage point, perched atop the rusted framework of the abandoned construction site on Seventh Street. The one which is currently teetering on the edge of an open sinkhole.” Two pairs of eyes turn to stare at him accusingly, a matched set of black brows drawing down as the Waynes frown at him in concert.

Tim gulps, feeling attacked. “It wasn’t that bad! This was before the structural support framework rusted completely through and partially collapsed. Into the sinkhole.” He pauses, then reluctantly adds, “It was after the sinkhole filled with acidic leachate, though.”

They both blink at him, and then Helena shivers, squeezing him lightly. “Right, then. That’s definitely not happening again. Thank you for telling us all of this. Now, you must _never_ do it again.”

Tim was expecting this. He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and then manages to force himself to say, “No.” Seeing them both open their mouths, likely to try to convince him, he hurries on. “Please. You guys work so hard and do so much good. You _tried_ to save my parents—I know you did.”

Damian flinches, looking stricken. “Timothy, I am so very sorry for your loss. I regret that we were unable to do more.”

“I know you did your best. Thank you for trying.” Tim’s voice is soft as he continues. “Look, I can understand how you guys felt when you started all this now. You wanted to save other people from having to endure the same suffering and pointless loss you did. I want the same thing. Please, _please_ let me join you.” His voice wobbles by the end of his impassioned plea.

Helena takes his hand. “Tim, you’re a child. We can’t just…” Her voice is slow and hesitant, like she’s still thinking.

He turns to look at her earnestly, letting her see his determination. “Just so you know, I’m going to do it anyway, with or without your help.”

Helena blinks, her lips twitching. A low chuckle has Tim turning to face Damian, who has his face buried in his hand. The man looks up, amusement clear as he regards Tim. “I’m beginning to see that we may not have a choice in the matter.” He doesn’t seem angry though. Instead, he gives Tim a warm, kind smile. It completely transforms his face. “We’ll see about training you. For the time being…” He glances at his sister.

She nods. “Yes. Tim, I think that considering the circumstances, you should consider living here with us. We can make sure you receive the education and training you want, and protect you from the failings of the Gotham foster system.”

Tim’s mouth drops open and he stares at them, honestly shocked. He hadn’t— “Oh, no, you guys don’t have to do that!” He shakes his head. “Seriously, it’s not a problem. I hacked Gotham social services and changed my records so it looks like I’m being taken care of by an uncle. I can just come over for training and patrol, and then go back home so I won’t be a bother. You don’t have to—”

“Unacceptable,” Damian snaps, looking truly angry for the first time since Tim got here. “You are a child, traumatized and entirely alone. How could we possibly leave you to such a heartless arrangement? We are perhaps the two people in this city who are best suited to understand and care for you.” He blinks, looking suddenly uncertain. “Unless… you do not wish to live here, with us?”

Oh, gosh. Tim hurries to reassure him. “That’s not it at all—” 

Helena claps her hands briskly, smiling. “Well then, that’s decided. Now, I’ll give our lawyer a call and set the wheels in motion. I can register as a foster parent, or possibly set Wayne Manor up as a private group home if that’s easier. I’ll just—” She rises, her phone already out and raised to her ear as she slips from the room with an absent wave, clearly already focused on the next step.

Tim glances at Damian, still seated beside him, and finds himself feeling shy and awkward now that it’s all said and done. “Um, I can go back to the house for now—once everything’s decided then maybe—”

“Nonsense. I am positive Julia has already prepared a room for you. You would not wish to put her efforts to waste, would you?” Damian rescues his tea cup from the side table and lifts it to his lips for a sip, then gives Tim a slight, understanding smile. “You belong to us now. You may as well accustom yourself to the fact.”

Tim blinks, stunned, but Julia returns before he can say anything. She’s carrying a platter loaded down with what looks like enough sandwiches to feed a dozen hungry boys. She sets the platter down before him with a militant expression. “Please have as many as you like, Master Tim. Master Damian, I believe you could use some nourishment, as well.” She watches sternly as both of them obediently reach out and take a sandwich. Once she’s satisfied that they’re obeying her edicts, she turns to Tim. “Please let me know when you are finished, and I’ll show you to your room.”

“Thank you, Ms. Pennyworth,” he mumbles around a bite of what has to be the most delicious roast beef sandwich he’s ever tasted.

“Ah yes, thank you, Julia.” Damian takes a fastidious bite of what looks like a hummus and veggie sandwich. “Superb, as always.”

“I do my best.” Julia’s lips twitch and she gives him a nod before smiling softly at Tim. “And may I say, welcome to the family, Master Tim.”

He ducks his head to hide his pleased smile. This isn’t what he planned—not at all.

It’s so much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tiny Tim, scampering around downtown Gotham late at night:** “Yay I’m taking pictures of Batman and Batwoman!” *Blithely skips along, somehow dodging all the drug dealers, thieves, and worse criminals reaching for him from the shadows* “This is fun!”  
>  **Damian, having heart palpitations after he finds out about Tiny Tim’s antics:** “You aren’t going outside again until you’re twenty”  
>  **Helena, wrapping Tiny Tim in bubble wrap and measuring him for a giant hamster sphere to keep him safe:** “Twenty five. I think we shouldn’t let him out until he’s twenty five”  
>  **Tim, sipping his tea and looking incredibly innocent:** *Plans to make himself a costume and sneak out again that night* “Yay!”


	3. Chapter 3

Jason pokes his head out of the alley and scans the street, eyeing the surrounding rooftops with suspicion. After a long moment without any Bat-shaped silhouettes appearing, he edges forward. His heart is racing and he knows this is a bad idea, but at this point he’s out of options.

Well, out of options he’s willing to take. Some of the johns have been checking him out lately. He could probably make enough cash to get by turning tricks, but—hell, no. He’d rather try his luck hunting and eating goddamn alley rats than resort to that. He’s lost everything, but there are some things he’s not willing to give up just yet.

Running drugs for the local gangs is another option, but that’s a short life with an ugly end for most kids who try it. Jason’s made it to thirteen years old without getting his hands dirty touching the drug trade, and the last thing he wants to do is help support the fucked up system that killed his mom.

No. He can make it a while longer. Probably. He eyes the vehicle in front of him speculatively.

The sleek black car, carelessly parked in Crime Alley, is probably worth more than Jason has a chance at making in his entire life. The thought makes his stomach tighten and he feels a little sick. All he needs is the tires. If he can sell those, that’ll give him enough cash to make it through the winter without having to turn to other, even shittier alternatives.

“Fuck, I hope the Bats don’t catch me,” he mutters, clutching the tire iron and hurrying toward the car.

He can see his breath clouding in the air as he gets to work on the lug nuts. It’s a bitterly cold night, not that that’s anything new. He tries not to think about how he’s going to spend the rest of the night walking up and down the streets, trying to keep out of the gang members’ way while keeping moving so he doesn’t freeze. Sleeping during the day kind of sucks, but it’s better than going to sleep and never waking up.

He’s on the third tire when someone speaks right behind him, startling him so badly he drops the tire iron. “Hello there,” the soft voice says, sounding amused. “I should probably be mad about this, but I’m going to have _so much_ fun giving Batman a hard time for parking here and getting his tires stolen. I’m actually kind of grateful to you for giving me this opportunity.” The person snickers softly.

Jason hesitates, considering grabbing the tire iron again before standing up, but—that voice sounds _young._ Maybe close to his age. There’s no way he’s going to hit another kid. He turns around, cautiously looking up.

It’s Crow. The kid—and seriously, he _has_ to be a kid. There’s no way he’s any taller than Jason, and he’s damn short for his age—grins down at him, looking way too happy considering Jason is technically in the middle of committing a crime.

Crow raises a gauntleted hand to his mask, stares fixedly at Jason for a few seconds, and then lowers it again. “Okay, I got some pictures. Now, would you mind helping me get these back on? Batman’s probably going to be kind of mad if he comes back to find this.”

Jason eyes him for a moment, gauging his muscle mass and sturdiness. For all his small size, Crow is muscular, wiry, and light on his feet in a way that speaks to training. Not only that, his black suit and cape with faint, dark red accents looks impressive, like body armor. All those compartments on his black bandoliers are rumored to be full of tricks, too, like smoke bombs and tear gas and various pointy things that Jason does not want to see up close and personal right now, thanks very much.

Yeah, he should probably go ahead and put the tires back on. Only—he’s so damn hungry. All he had today was a half-eaten bagel he was lucky enough to grab out of the trash the minute a careless businessman chucked it. He sighs, drops to his knees, and begins to tighten the lug nuts he just finished loosening. “Sure,” he says, moments before his stomach lets out an untimely and embarrassingly loud growl. He flushes, darting a glance over to Crow to see if he noticed.

He clearly did. The other teen is frowning down at him. He hesitates, then falls gently to his knees beside Jason. “Hey,” he says softly, then bites his lip. “You’re… not just stealing these tires as a prank, are you?”

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, his hands stilling for a moment, then sighs. Opening his eyes, he resumes his task. “Nope.”

Crow looks him over, probably noticing the too-thin sweatshirt, holes in his jeans, and ragged sneakers with the soles falling off. “Oh,” he says. “Uh… Sorry if I’m intruding, but do you have anywhere to stay?”

Jason shrugs.

Crow is quiet for a minute while Jason works. Just as he’s starting to hope the vigilante is going to let it go, he breathes out softly. “Okay. Okay, I’m going to go get us something to eat.”

What? That’s not what he was expecting. He figured at best, he’d be let go with a warning. At worst, he might be dragged into the hell that is the Gotham foster care system. After all the horror stories he’s heard over the past two years on the streets, he seriously doesn’t want to find out exactly how bad it really is from the inside. “Food?” he says, suspicious. Maybe Crow’s just saying that to lull him into a false sense of security while he sneaks off to call CPS.

“Yeah,” Crow says, smiling gently at him. “Uh, will you be here when I get back? I’m just going to the food truck down the block.”

Jason knows the one. His mouth waters as he imagines what it would be like to sink his teeth into a savory, delicious chilidog right now. It’s been months since he had enough cash on hand for something like that. “A chilidog, please,” he blurts out, hunger overwhelming his good sense. Crow grins at him blindingly, and he realizes with a sudden swoop low in his stomach that Crow is really, really cute.

“Sure,” Crow says, then winces. “As long as you think that won’t be too hard on your stomach? If it’s been a while since you’ve had steady meals…”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Naw, should be fine. I’m hungry, not starving.” He usually has something to eat, even if the quality isn’t great. He watches as Crow nods, then slips away with a smile and a wave.

Jason busies himself reattaching the tires to the Batmobile while the other teen is gone. All the while, he argues with himself over what the hell he’s thinking, staying here. He should be running, maybe taking one of the tires with him for good measure. There’s every chance Crow’s coming back with CPS or even Batman. Jason should run.

He stays. A few minutes later, he’s just tightening the lug nuts on the last tire when Crow comes jogging up, grinning and clutching a brown paper bag to his chest. “Awesome, you got them all back on!” He drops down to sit on the curb next to Jason and then digs into the bag. “Here you go,” he says, handing him _two_ chilidogs.

The savory aroma reaches him and it’s entirely possible he might just cry of happiness right now. “Thanks,” he manages. Raising the first chilidog to his lips, he takes a huge bite and moans as the rich flavors fill his mouth. So fucking good. “My name’s Jason,” he says, then chuckles. “Guess I know better than to ask for yours.”

Beside him, Crow takes a much more modest bite of his own chilidog. He glances over and smiles, then reaches back into the bag and pulls out a couple of Zestis. “Here.” He tilts his head, regarding Jason with interest, then shrugs. “Well, yeah, obviously I can’t tell you my real name. Feel free to call me Crow, though.”

Jason snorts. “What kind of name is that, anyway? I mean, it’s not bad, but I always wondered why you didn’t stick with the theme and call yourself Batboy.” Crow appeared over a year ago and at first the newspapers _did_ call him Batboy. Eventually, word must’ve gotten around, because they corrected themselves within about a few weeks.

Crow makes a face. “Batboy sounds ridiculous. Like a sidekick.”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

“Not really? I mean, I work with the Bats, but I work my own cases, too. I’m my own vigilante. Anyway, I went with Crow because it seemed to fit the theme of dark flying creatures that freak people out.”

“Fair enough.” Jason cracks open his soda and takes a long pull, washing down his first chilidog in record time. Crow’s still on his second bite. They meet each other’s eyes and snicker, for no real reason except good food and the thrill of hanging out late at night.

Speaking of which… Jason clears his throat, eyeing his second chilidog regretfully before he shoves it in his pocket. “I should probably go,” he says, feeling guilty at the way Crow’s pretty face falls. “I mean, I seriously don’t wanna be here when Batman gets back—”

“Oh?” The deep voice speaking directly over their heads causes both of them to jump guiltily.

“Shitfuck!” Jason yelps, wishing like hell he had the tire iron right now.

Crow tips his head back to look up. “Hey there, Batman.” He gives the towering vigilante a hopeful smile and a tentative wave. “I found a friend?”

Jason stares at the shadowy, looming figure, then begins scrambling back. “Uh, I gotta go, sorry—”

Batman shifts slightly, blocking his escape with one heavy boot. “Crow, what is this?” He tilts his head toward the discarded tire iron, then looks at Jason again. From the unimpressed expression on his face, he’s figured out exactly what happened and he isn’t happy about it.

Well, Jason’s not going down without a fight. His fingers edge toward the tire iron. If he can just get a grip on it, he might be able to hit Batman and get away—

Crow’s hand closing over his own stops him. The other teen nudges himself slightly in front of Jason, almost like he’s trying to shield him. “Batman, this is Jason. He doesn’t have anywhere to live or enough food and I was wondering if maybe—” He breaks off, looking torn but hopeful.

Batman regards them both for a long moment. His gaze flicks to the tire iron again and his shoulders seem to sag slightly. He shakes his head slowly, looking weary.

Crow’s hand tightens almost painfully where it’s still holding his. Jason’s heart is in his throat and he’s not even sure why.

“Crow,” Batman says, finally turning to look at them again, _“You_ shall be the one explaining this to Batwoman.” He jerks his head toward the car. “Hand me that tire iron. I must verify the tires are secure before entrusting any of our lives to this vehicle again.” Muttering what sounds like imprecations under his breath in some language Jason doesn’t recognize, Batman sinks gracefully to his knees and begins inspecting the tires.

Crow silently hands him the tire iron, then turns to Jason with a happy, relieved looking grin. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, but how would you like to come home and live with us?”

Jason eyes them both with growing suspicion, then loudly demands, “Wait, are you kidnapping me to train me to be a vigilante and force me to fight in your growing child army? Lemme go!” No way in hell is he going to be suckered into something like that.

Batman scoffs. “Do not be absurd—we have no such intention! You will simply be given a home, warm clothing, and food such as is suitable to your needs—”

Jason scowls, folding his arms and hunching angrily. “So now I’m not _good enough_ to train as a vigilante?”

Crow snickers as Batman looks over at him, a hilariously helpless expression on his usually haughty face. Grinning, Crow turns to Jason. “You can be a vigilante if you want to be one. I do it because it’s what I want. It’s up to you.”

He seems totally sincere. It’s kind of scary.

“He would have to go through suitable training first,” Batman mutters. “And I would prefer not to allow anyone else to don a cape until at least the age of fifteen.” He glares at Crow, who snickers. Apparently there’s a story there.

Jason shakes his head. This is insane. “What the fuck?” His palms feel sweaty and his heart is racing like he just ran a mile. “Why would you even do this? I’m just some guy you met on the street today. I was stealing your goddamn _tires,_ and you wanna give me a home?”

Crow shrugs. “This is Gotham. We’ve all seen worse.”

Fair. Jason tries again. “How do you know I’m not gonna sell you out? Seriously, you don’t know anything about me.”

“You didn’t try to hurt me when I caught you. You had a tire iron literally in your hand and I was close enough to hit—I saw you think about it. You put it down. You also could have run away when I went to get you dinner. You stayed. I think you’re kind, and brave, and that you’ve made the best of a horrible situation.” Crow bites his lip. “If it weren’t for Batman and Batwoman taking me in, I could’ve ended up in a bad place, too. So.” He shrugs. “I guess that just makes me want to help you.”

Jason closes his mouth, which fell open at some point during that speech. Glancing around, he sees Batman has paused and is regarding Crow warmly.

These guys seem really decent. From what he knows of Batwoman, she’s pretty awesome too. Fuck it—he’s never going to have another chance like this again. Anything beats hooking or selling drugs. “Sure,” he says, watching as Crow’s face lights up and Batman looks satisfied. “But I’m not being fuckin’ Batboy. I’m choosing my own vigilante name.”

Their expressions are priceless. He grins. Things are looking unexpectedly up. 

*

Batman listens to the sounds of Tim’s and Jason’s voices, amicably bickering in the media room as they play some manner of ridiculous game involving aliens. He slips silently past the doorway, not wanting to draw their attention. He missed them during the mission, of course. However, he is not prepared to deal with their questions just yet.

Eyeing the warm, mercifully quiescent bundles in his arms warily, he speeds his steps. Julia should have prepared the nursery upon receiving his request—

He sighs in relief as he steps into the bedroom adjoining his own and sees it is now furnished with a pair of cribs, a rocking chair, changing table, and other useful infant-related apparatus. There is a bookshelf filled with classic children’s books and a multitude of toys are arranged elegantly on tables and shelves. Julia Pennyworth is a gift and they have never deserved her.

Hopefully, the woman is making the most of her night out. She’s been taking enough recently that he and Helena have begun joking that perhaps their housekeeper has a gentleman friend. Right now, though, he doesn’t begrudge her a moment of it. She has created a perfect space for these infants with next to no warning. He’s willing to bet the closets are already stocked with suitable clothing through at least the age of five as well.

Julia can take as many nights off as she likes after this. She’s earned it.

Holding his breath, he carefully lowers the infants into one of the waiting cribs. They’re accustomed to sleeping side by side, and their tiny hands are currently curled together. Separating them to lay them in different cribs does not seem like a wise idea at present.

He pulls out his phone and struggles over what to say before simply sending a text. It won’t be long now.

Afterwards, he simply stands there watching the infants sleep. His mind is abuzz with the white noise of the shock and frantic action of the past forty-eight hours, and anxiety over what is to come. At some point the window opens, and he turns to see Superman stepping carefully into the room.

Batman slides back the cowl and Damian stands there, exhausted. He looks at his long-time partner with trepidation. Jon glances at him first, gaze darting up and down his body, no doubt using his abilities to verify he is uninjured. That finished, he turns and stares at the infants in silence, his cape still settling around his broad shoulders. “They’re ours?” Jon whispers, his voice breaking.

Damian winces, regretting sending such a sensitive revelation in a text. This should have been handled more delicately. He reaches for the baby curled on the left, having noticed the child is now stirring and grimacing. He lifts the infant to his shoulder as he replies. “They are, indeed, our children. I swear to you, I had no idea my grandfather was considering such a plan, let alone that he had already enacted it—” He breaks off, wincing as he recalls his grandfather’s manipulative words.

Ra’s al Ghul made it very clear he did not approve of Damian’s decision to foster a child rather than sire one for himself. Apparently, Tim joining the family two years ago irritated the megalomaniac sufficiently to inspire this truly reprehensible plan. If he had managed to raise these infants and train them as he clearly intended—

Damian shakes his head. At least his mother caught wind of the matter early enough to warn him and thus spare the children any of the hellish training to which he himself was exposed in his youth. He bounces the fussing baby, soothing his—Damian’s mind stutters on the word, but it doesn’t change the fact that this child is his _son._

Jon clears his throat, still not looking away from the remaining baby in the crib. “Is either of them… like me?”

Damian eyes his partner, cautiously hopeful. He knows it wears on Jon to be the only survivor of his race, stranded in this alien world. Kon is a comfort to him, of course, and has been ever since Jon adjusted to the knowledge of his partial clone’s existence, but the two of them have been alone in their abilities until now.

He clears his throat. “They were both created using our genetic material.” He suppresses a wince, knowing this may be a sore point after the way Lionel Luthor used his own and Jon’s genetic material to create Kon without Jon’s knowledge or consent. “Grandfather apparently wished to show his _support_ for our relationship by gifting us with children. Mother was able to send me word of his machinations in time for me to rescue them, with Helena’s assistance, of course. According to all we were able to glean from Grandfather’s database whilst liberating them, Bruce, here, is baseline human in terms of his potential abilities.”

Jon looks up for the first time since Damian summoned him and broke the news revealing the enormity of what his grandfather did. And _oh…_

His partner is regarding the baby in Damian’s arms with an expression of so much wonder and love, it makes Damian’s heart tighten and twist painfully.

“He’s perfect,” Jon whispers, stroking the baby’s soft cheek as the infant watches him with solemn blue eyes.

Damian swallows before continuing. He gestures toward their other son, who is still sleeping peacefully. “And this is Clark. Based on the League’s records, he is likely to develop most, if not all of your powers.” He waits, tense, for his partner’s response. Usually, Jon is an open book to him, so expressive and familiar after all their time together. It bothers him that he doesn’t know how he will react to this further revelation.

He needn’t have worried.

Jon simply turns that dopey, loving smile on the other baby. “He’s perfect, too.” Turning to face Damian, his expression shutters. “Are you… raising them here?”

The reminder of their separate living situations causes Damian’s shoulders to tighten. He and Jon have been friends since they first met, soon after Batman and Batwoman made their first appearance. Superman’s meteoric rise to fame in Metropolis a couple of years prior caused him to seek out the new heroes, to offer a hand of friendship and advice if desired.

Upon getting to know the other man, Damian had desired _much_ more.

He smirks, recalling their years of courtship which were marked by interrupted civilian dates, occasional vigilante team ups, and far more exclusive news articles about Damian Wayne than he would grant to any other reporter.

They have been partners for three years now, since he was twenty-one and Jon just twenty-three. Perhaps it is time… Bruce lets out a soft cry, reminding Damian of his increased responsibilities. His shoulders slump slightly as he remembers his other duties. Helena has always been first in his life, ever since that terrible night during which they lost their parents.

Jon made a place for himself at Damian’s side, his gentleness and humility allowing him to withstand the buffets of Damian’s bumbling relationship attempts and unreliable schedule. Jon has never pushed for more than he was willing to give—even if Damian has been able to sense that his partner would love to spend more time with him. To make a home with him, perhaps.

Damian hasn’t been ready. The idea of allowing his two lives to blend—Jon’s handsome, gentle face greeting him each morning, Helena and Jon perhaps joining forces to tease him together over the breakfast table—it’s overwhelming. He’s afraid of reaching for such impossible happiness, only to have it slip from his grasp again. 

Tim nudged his way into Damian’s heart unexpectedly two years ago, and now he has reached out a hand to pull Jason along as well. That couldn’t be helped. These infants, though, and Jon…

Damian hesitates. “We’ve only just brought Jason into our home. Adding the infants might be overwhelming, both for him and us if he does not adjust well to their presence.” The thirteen year-old has already suffered more than enough in his brief life. The last thing he needs is to feel unwelcome in his home, just when he’s beginning to tentatively trust them. And yet, the idea of giving the children up, even to allow Jon to raise them in Metropolis, makes his chest tighten until he can hardly draw a breath.

“You’re worried he won’t like them?” Jon looks confused and a little hurt.

“No—my concern is that he may feel displaced. After all, he has been here less than a month. The fact that these children are biologically related to me may cause him to feel even more of an outsider in our home.”

Jon opens his mouth, likely intending to say something reassuring, but he doesn’t get a chance. The door bursts open and Tim and Jason come tumbling boisterously into the room.

“Helena sent us to ask—” Tim breaks off, his eyes going wide as he catches sight of the crib.

Jason edges closer, a soft look on his face. “Is that a baby? Damn—uh, _dang,_ he’s pretty cute. I used to babysit for all the working girls in our apartment complex. Haven’t had a chance to hold one since my mom died. Can I…?”

Damian just holds out the baby, stunned by the teen’s reaction. Jason accepts the little bundle, cradling him expertly in his arms and immediately beginning to bounce him.

Tim peers into the crib at the other infant. “Whose are they? Are we watching them for someone, or are they ours now, like Jason?”

Damian regards Tim and Jason with caution as he replies, “These infants are _ours_ —my grandfather created them using my genetic material, and Jon’s.”

“Cool,” Jason says, not looking up from the solemn baby in his arms. “Hey, I got him to smile!” He lifts his head, grinning.

“That’s probably just gas,” Tim says, then snickers and dodges back when Jason attempts to kick his ankle. “Oh yeah!” He turns back to Damian. “Helena wants to know if Jon is staying for dinner. Something about Kryptonian metabolisms needing us to order some extra pizzas?”

Jon looks over at Damian hopefully. “I’d like to,” he says, clearly leaving the decision up to Damian.

Damian looks around the room—at the boys whispering and smiling over the babies, and his beloved watching it all with a fond, wistful smile. He wonders what he’s been so afraid of all this time. They are all his family, he realizes with a touch of surprise. He needn’t have just one or two at a time. Perhaps they can all simply be together.

He’s never had a family group larger than one or two members. Looking around the room, Damian thinks he’s ready to try.

“Stay,” he says, and means it. Jon’s smile lights up the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, stealing the Batmobile tires:** “Fuck yeah! There’s no way this can possibly go wrong—”  
>  **Tim, right behind him:** “Hi” *Snickers as Jason screams and jumps three feet in the air* “Here, have a chilidog”  
>  **Jason, devouring pile of chilidogs:** “You are now my favorite”  
>  **Damian, materializing out of the darkness behind them:** “Gah! What execrable offal are you eating! This shall not stand! Quickly, into the car that we may feed you superior food and perhaps correct some of the massive growth restriction apparent in your stature”  
>  **Jason:** “Uh what”  
>  **Tim:** “Just get in the car, you’re gonna be a superhero now!”  
>  **Talia, stopping by again to yeet a couple of clone-babies at Damian:** “Hello my son, I managed to rescue these two BEFORE father inflicted assassin training on them. You’re welcome”  
>  **Damian, panicking:** “Wait WHAT”  
>  **Jon, showing up out of nowhere:** “Yay babies! Wait, why do they look like us?”  
>  **Damian, still panicking:** “Uh… Happy birthday, beloved” *Holds out baby to Jon, who squeals with joy and cuddles it* “I need a drink”


	4. Chapter 4

“You are _such_ an asshole for making me do this,” Jason grumbles, peeking reluctantly around the corner and down what turns out to be a long, steep staircase descending into darkness. “If my face gets bitten off by a goblin or a sewer rat or something, you owe me a new face.” When he doesn’t spot any giant spiders or angry-looking people in bat costumes, he lets out a quiet sigh, then frowns. “Why the fuck aren’t there any handrails on that creepy-ass staircase? What the hell? If someone fell, they’d break their neck.”

So far, he’s surprisingly unimpressed with the legendary Bat Cave, if that’s even what this is. For all he knows, it’s actually the ultrarich person version of a wine cellar. Maybe he and Tim are just going down here to steal a bottle of wine that costs more than a house.

He’s still not too clear on what the hell they’re doing right now. If this were anyone else besides Tim, Jason would’ve peaced out an hour ago when he had to check what felt like every damn book in the library to solve that stupid cipher. It is Tim, though, and Jason has found over the past month living here that he really doesn’t want to disappoint him.

“Shh!” Tim edges up behind him, looking left and right before darting through the entrance to stand on the landing. “Helena and Damian made me promise not to tell you how to get into the Bat Cave. They don’t want you to get yourself into trouble,” he says by way of explanation. “That’s why I had to leave you a series of clues to solve so you could figure it out for yourself.” He smiles, looking adorably excited.

Jason swallows and wills himself not to blush. The older boy is really attractive and it’s horribly distracting. “Oh.” That explains the weird scavenger hunt, which eventually led him to the secret door accessed via an old grandfather clock in the Waynes’ private study. He raises a skeptical brow. “I don’t think that really counts as obeying them, though. Since, y’know, you’re doing the exact opposite of what they want.”

Tim shrugs. “I didn’t technically break their rules. It’s not my fault they didn’t specify enough.” He smiles beatifically, his bright blue eyes twinkling. He’s such a little shit. It’s so cute.

Fuck. Jason’s doomed.

The door slides shut behind them, and Jason eyes it warily. “Uh, are we gonna be able to get back outta here?”

“Sure,” Tim says blithely. He flashes a grin. “Oh, and by the way—the reason there aren’t handrails? It’s so we can do this.” He reaches for Jason and wraps an arm around his waist. Jason is too distracted by the physical contact to wonder what he’s doing. Besides, he needs to figure out what the hell he should do with his own arms—grab Tim back? Hold them awkwardly in the air like an idiot? He’s just settled his hands lightly on the other boy’s shoulders when Tim’s grip tightens. Suddenly, they’re airborne, cold wind rushing past his face as they descend into darkness.

“Holy shit!” Jason yelps, suddenly finding it easy to clutch at Tim. It’s a short flight, but his heart is racing when they land lightly on the cave floor. “What the hell, Tim?” He glances at the other boy, who’s holding what looks like one of the special guns the Bats use to shoot lines and swing through the city.

“It’s a grapnel gun,” Tim explains. “I can show you how to use it if you want. You have to practice a _lot_ before you try what I just did, though.”

Suddenly, Jason’s palms are tingling and he can feel himself starting to grin. “Wait, you brought me down here to train me, didn’t you?”

Tim shrugs, smiling. “If you want? I mean, I just wanted to give you the chance. If you’re interested. You don’t have to actually become a vigilante or anything—”

“Are you kidding?” He’s thought about it a lot since he moved in here. It sucks to know that Crow and the others are going out on patrol every night and might get hurt while he’s safe in bed. He really wants to be able to go with them and have a chance to help. “Show me everything you know.”

It’s possible he comes to regret those words slightly over the next few hours. By the time he finally collapses, panting, on the training mats after Tim runs him through an inhuman workout regimen he apparently does every day, Jason is pretty sure that his legs don’t actually work anymore. “Urgh,” he groans, stretching his arms and legs out like a starfish and then going limp.

Tim snickers and sits down cross-legged beside him, apparently unaffected by the intense workout. “So, if you’re going to be a vigilante, you’ve got to choose a name.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling on it with a frown. “Got any ideas?”

Jason considers the merits of falling asleep, then decides against it. Tim might just choose a vigilante name for him and he doesn’t quite trust it won’t be something horrifying. Tim has a twisted sense of humor. “Naw, I haven’t thought about it yet. Something scary, obviously. Are there rules to this? Like, does it have to fly or whatever? How’d you end up picking Crow, anyway?”

“Crows are one of the most intelligent birds and are historically known as harbingers of bad luck. And yeah, it seems like it would be fun to stick with the pattern.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool, I guess. Okay, I’ll keep with the winged theme. What about something big and badass, though? Like a hawk or an eagle? Falcon? Kestrel? Nighthawk?”

Tim shakes his head sympathetically. “Those are already taken. Pretty much all the really good ones are, between major heroes, villains, and the various D-listers in spandex.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, I know, right? We could’ve been so many awesome things. I was lucky to snag Crow when I did, honestly.”

“So what are my options?” Jason glances down at the list Tim’s been typing on his laptop, and raises a brow. “Thrasher? Huh, that’s one’s not bad. Oriole? Naw. Fuckin’ _sparrow?_ Hell, no. What even is this one—shrike? I’ve never heard of that.”

Tim answers promptly. “Shrikes impale their prey on thorns and leave the tiny corpses as a warning for others.”

Jason stares at him in silence for a long moment, then grins. Hell yeah. That’s more like it. “That’s the one,” he says. “Shrike. I like the sound of that.”

“It is adequate, I suppose,” a deep voice says from the shadows. Tim bleats in surprise, twitching into a crouch and spinning to place himself between Jason and the potential threat.

Jason’s too tired to actually react, but his heart does its best to pound its way out of his chest before he sees the amusement on Batman’s face. “What the fuck?” he whispers, sagging back onto the mat. “Why would you _do_ that?”

“Merely one of the perks of the job,” Batman says, reaching up to push back his cowl. “Timothy, I seem to recall Helena and I directed you to refrain from bringing Jason down here.”

Tim gulps, looking a lot less confident than he did earlier, but he squares his shoulders and answers bravely enough. “I didn’t tell him. He figured it out on his own!”

Damian raises a skeptical brow, then rolls his eyes. “You found a loophole, didn’t you?” He sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Of course you did. Do not bother explaining. I am too tired for this.” He shakes his head, looking infinitely weary. He doesn’t seem to have been getting much sleep since the babies arrived last week. Poor bastard.

“Okay,” Tim says, looking abashed but unrepentant. “Anyway, Jason wants to train to be a vigilante now.”

Jason’s aching, exhausted body says otherwise, but he’s pretty sure he’ll change his mind again after a good night’s sleep. “Yep,” he says. “That gonna be a problem?”

“No,” Helena’s voice says, causing everyone but Damian to jump as she walks over to join them. She’s clearly already showered and changed, her long, wet hair twisted into a bun on top of her head. She takes a look at Damian, then huffs a laugh and shakes her head. “You’re dead on your feet, Dames. Go to bed—I’ll wrangle these brats.”

“Hey!” Jason feels the need to protest being labeled a brat. Although it’s probably an accurate description.

“Helena!” Tim grins. “Want to help design Shrike’s new costume?”

“Shrike?” she says, her gaze sharpening with interest as she glances down at Jason. Her lips twitch like she wants to laugh. “Good choice.” She glances back at Tim with a wry smile. “So, you finally got around to finessing our rules. I honestly expected you to figure out a way to get him down here within three weeks. You’re slacking, Tim.”

Tim shrugs modestly. “I decided to give him more time to get used to us before throwing him into the deep end with training.”

Helena looks even more interested. She and Tim seem like they’re planning to spend the next few hours discussing the fine points of Jason’s future vigilante costume, training, and probable ultimate skill set. Jason sighs and settles in for the long haul. At least the mat’s pretty comfortable.

Damian looks like he’s having the same thought about Tim and Helena’s intentions, and he’s not interested in sticking around for it. “Ya hayati,” Damian murmurs, “please.”

An instant after the words leave his lips, Jon appears, shirtless, his dark brown hair crazy with bedhead. “What do you need?” he says, his vivid blue eyes fixed on Damian. “I only have a minute—the babies always seem to wake up the second they’re alone. It’s like they have a sixth sense for it.”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, babies are like that.” He’s been having fun playing with the kids, but _damn_ is he glad he can just hand them back to their parents when they get fussy.

Damian sighs, then kneels at Jason’s side. “Do not allow these two to keep you up all night,” he instructs. “Goodnight, Jason.” He hesitates a moment, then pats Jason’s head gently before rising to his feet. He tousles Tim’s hair similarly, brushes shoulders with Helena, then reaches for Jon. “Bed, ya hayati.”

There’s a brush of wind and the pair disappear, leaving Jason alone with a very excited Tim and animated Helena. They’re gesturing toward the Batcomputer and talking about a two-year intensive training program to get him patrol-ready by the time he’s fifteen. It doesn’t seem entirely fair, considering Tim is _fourteen_ and he totally gets to go on patrol, but Jason is willing to admit that it’s a good idea for him to get some real training before he has to take on baddies. 

He’s pretty sure that by morning, he’s going to have a brand new costume and training regimen personally tailored for him by Batwoman and Crow.

Fuck, his life is awesome. Jason grins and somehow finds the energy to stand up. No way is he going to let them design this thing without any input from him.

* * *

Crow races across the rooftop, knowing his pursuer is closing the distance. His heart pounds and he can’t stop grinning even though he knows he’s about to be caught. He reaches the edge of the building and leaps, landing smoothly and rolling cleanly to his feet with a breathless laugh.

His pursuer lands more roughly, cursing under his breath as he nearly stumbles before finding his stride again. Crow manages to widen the gap but he loses his lead a few minutes later. He spots an altercation on the streets below and has to drop down to the ground to chase some drunks away from a young couple they were harassing.

He pants as the drunks stumble off, hopefully in the direction of their homes, and the tearful couple rushes in the opposite direction. “You’re welcome!” he calls.

“They ever even say thank you?” Shrike’s low voice speaks right in his ear. Damn. Well, he was bound to catch up eventually.

Crow imagines he can feel the warmth of the other teen’s body against his back, they’re standing so close. He shivers. “Uh, sometimes. Other times, they’re too scared to remember that kind of thing. I’m just glad to be able to help.” He shrugs. They don’t do this for the accolades, obviously.

Shrike chuckles. “Fair enough.” He stretches, inhaling deeply before lowering his arms and releasing his breath in a pleased sigh. “Fuck, patrol is awesome. I can’t believe the Bats really made me wait until I was fifteen.” He sounds resentful.

Crow snickers. He can’t help it—he’s been free to do what he wanted ever since he was a kid. It’s kind of hilarious and refreshing seeing how different Shrike has it. “It’s just because they care, you know. At least you’re out here now. Hey, you hungry? There are a few places I like to grab a bite to eat—” He’s going to have so much fun now that he has a patrol partner. “Fajita cheesesteaks?”

Shrike shrugs. “Sure, as long as I get a chilidog, too. Can we eat ‘em on top of Wayne Tower?” He sounds excited at the thought.

“Sure, it’s not too windy tonight.” Crow grins. He can’t wait to show his friend all the best places to take a break or hide during rooftop tag. It’s going to be so much fun now that he has a real partner—Batman and Batwoman are depressingly serious and hardly ever indulge him in a game of rooftop tag or hide and seek, even on the slow nights. He tends to play on his own, but that’s less fun. 

He leads the way to the food truck on Fifth, the one with the best chilidogs. The cheesesteaks are up there, too—not the best Gotham has to offer, but pretty damn good. “Thanks,” he tells the vendor, who just waves him off when he reaches for the bandolier compartment where he stores his spare cash.

“Thank _you,”_ the middle-aged woman who owns the truck says. “He saved us from that slime-monster that attacked the city last year,” she tells Shrike. “Any of you capes eat free here.” She nods firmly, then slathers an extra scoop of chili on the chilidog in her hand before giving it to him.

Crow accepts his bag of three cheesesteaks to share. It feels a little heavy, and he grins when he peeks inside and finds she’s thrown in a couple of Zestis, as well. “Thanks, Jazz.” He gives her a jaunty wave before shooting a line onto a ledge halfway up the nearest office building. “Seeya around!”

Shrike is right behind him, swinging expertly on his own line. They weave around each other, passing and catching up time and again as they make their way to their destination in Old Gotham. Crow alights on the rooftop first, his heart racing with the vigorous activity and the excitement of being out here with his best friend.

He flops down on the south ledge overlooking Gotham Bay, legs dangling over the side, then catches his breath at the view. It’s a rare clear night, the stars twinkling overhead and the nearly full moon lighting a shimmering trail on the water. It’s gorgeous.

“Wow,” Shrike says, sinking down at his side. The chilidog is gone, inhaled in two bites before they even took to the sky.

Crow nods, still staring at the view. He makes a mental note to snap a picture before they go. “Yeah.” He digs into the bag, pulling out a couple of cheesesteaks and handing one over to Shrike, along with a Zesti. Everything else in the bag is his. He settles back with a sigh, unwraps his first fajita cheesesteak, and then takes a huge bite.

It’s so good. He groans softly. There’s nothing quite like the taste of food after hard physical exertion. Every flavor seems to explode in his mouth, vivid and delicious.

“Jesus,” Shrike whispers, staring at him. “Should I get you two a room?”

Crow lazily kicks at his leg. “Shut up. My cheesesteak and I are very happy together, don’t shame us.” His voice is muffled because his mouth is so full, but he’s pretty sure Shrike gets the point. He swallows before trying to talk again. “Anyway, you’re exactly the same way when you’re holding a chilidog.”

Seriously, he is. It’s practically obscene. Crow experiences a brief regret that Shrike wolfed his chilidog down so fast tonight—he feels like he’s been robbed. Then again, there will be other chances. Meanwhile, he has a cheesesteak to finish, and an entire second cheesesteak in the bag at his side. He cracks open his Zesti and takes a drink before eyeing his cheesesteak again.

Besides him, Shrike looks like he’s reconsidering many of his life choices. Crow grins and leans in for another bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, peering dubiously into dark pit:** “This better not be a fuckin’ hellmouth” *Shrugs and jumps in* “Yeet!”   
> **Tim, following him into the darkness:** “Welcome to the Bat Cave! So, which superhero persona are you interested in today?”   
> **Jason, considering:** “Uh, something vicious and terrifying. Preferably stabby”  
>  **Tim, grinning:** “Shrike it is! Here, have a chilidog. I’m just gonna take a bite of this fajita cheesesteak…” *Begins expertly fellating fajita cheesesteak*  
>  **Jason, mouth dropping open and pupils dilating as he stares:** *Goes through puberty in five seconds flat* “Holy shit”


	5. Chapter 5

Tim slips into the library in hopes of finding Jason. He wasn’t in either of their rooms or the Bat Cave, so the list of likely places is getting shorter.

Instead, he sees Cass, who is curled in the corner of the couch with her arms wrapped around her knees. She is staring fixedly at Steph, who’s sitting on the floor surrounded by what looks like a slew of world history notes and open textbooks. They both glance up when he opens the door.

“Oh, sorry,” Tim says, freezing. “I didn’t mean to bother you guys.” He shifts awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. He hasn’t spent much time with Wayne Manor’s newest inhabitants yet, not since they actually moved in.

For all of Damian’s and Helena’s joking comments over the past four years about registering Wayne Manor as a private group home, he’d never realized they had actually done so. Not until they brought two more teens home to stay and he saw the name _Wayne Manor Home for Youths_ on the paperwork.

He’s known Steph for a while, at least. She introduced herself to him with a brick to the face—which, _ow—_ and gradually started working with Crow and Shrike, once Jason got over being mad at her for bricking Tim. Eventually, they realized her home situation was unsafe and brought her to the Bats for help. After helping her bring down her criminal father, of course. Spoiler’s vigilante costume and skillset could definitely use some work, but the Bats are working on fixing that.

Tim doesn’t have the same history with Cass. They only met her because she shadowed Batwoman on patrol for a while, quietly assisting on occasion and then melting into the shadows immediately afterward. No one’s quite sure how, exactly, Helena earned her trust, but one night Batwoman stepped out of the Batmobile, closely followed by a slim, petite brunette who looked like she could break all of them in half. Batgirl debuted a few weeks later and Cass has been here ever since.

She’s pretty awesome. They both are, really.

Steph grins. “No worries. I’m just cramming for my stupid world history test tomorrow.”

Cass looks at him and nods seriously. “School,” she says, sounding half-puzzled and half-curious. Helena’s been working on introducing her to the concept of broader education than whatever insane assassin training her awful father thought was appropriate. It’s a work in progress. She blinks, looking bored, then rises to her feet and stretches before heading for the door.

Steph sighs as she watches the younger girl leave. “I can’t believe she’s been through so much at her age. She’s only a year younger than us, you know? Being around her really puts my problems in perspective. I mean, all I ever had was a B-list criminal father and a mom with some substance abuse problems.” She winces at her own words, clearly touching on painful memories even if she is being dismissive of them.

“Hey,” Tim says, frowning and stepping into the room to sit beside her on the floor. “This isn’t a contest about whose life was the most messed up. It’s okay to be sad, or—”

“Okay!” She shakes her head, laughing. “You don’t need to give me the whole lecture—I’ve already heard it from Helena like three times.”

Tim blushes. It’s totally possible he was just repeating some of the same things Helena told him, back when Jason first joined the family and he felt a little overwhelmed at everything the younger boy had survived. “Fine,” he says as he glances down at her scattered papers. “Uh, do you need any help studying?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. Like you’re going to do any better on that test than I am.”

Fair. Tim’s absolutely not going to do well on the test, considering he hasn’t cracked the book open once since the school year started. He shrugs. “Vigilante work is more important and more interesting than what they teach at school. Besides, if I get a steady C-average, no one’s ever going to suspect I’m smart enough to pull off the kinds of things Crow does. It’s all part of my carefully constructed cover.”

Steph snorts, shaking her head and eyeing him knowingly. “That’s totally just an excuse to be lazy at school and we both know it.”

For only having known him a few months, she gets him pretty well. Not that he’ll ever admit it. “Everything I do is meticulously planned and orchestrated!”

“So that’s why you tripped over your own feet trying to check out Shrike’s ass when you spotted him bending over the other night on patrol?”

Tim flinches and starts backing away. “What am I thinking—I’m interrupting your studying. I’ll just go now—”

“Whatever, you know I’m right!”

Steph’s cackling laughter follows him down the hallway as Tim walks away, blushing. He spots Cass again on his way through the kitchen. She’s carefully spooning batter into a muffin tin under Julia’s watchful eye. They’re both smiling.

The sound of laughter causes him to peek around the kitchen island, and there are the twins. Bruce and Clark are sitting on the floor, absolutely _covered_ in batter and chortling with glee as they dip little spoons into a bowl. Helena is flopped down on the floor beside them, trying to direct some of the batter into a muffin tin. She’s laughing softly with delight.

Clark starts to rise into the air, grinning and waving his little batter-covered arms. “Boooose! Boose, I fying!” His brother laughs and throws his batter-laden spoon at him with surprisingly good aim. Fortunately, Clark is impervious and just giggles as it bounces off his chest.

“No flying right now, Clark—you’ll get cupcake batter on Julia’s nice clean ceiling,” Helena says firmly, reaching up to pull him back down with a practiced hand. “Come on, boys, let’s finish this up and then I’ll give you back to your fathers for a bath.” She snickers, clearly pleased with the idea of being the fun aunt who helps get the babies filthy before handing them back to their parents.

Julia clears her throat. “Ah, might I suggest we allow them to enjoy a taste of the finished product, first?”

Make that fun aunt and fun grandma, sugaring up the kids together. Tim smirks. He’d pity Jon and Damian, but he’s pretty sure they appreciate the time alone together enough that they won’t mind their progeny being returned to them in a messy, hyper state.

Tim gives them a wave before he continues down the hallway, making a mental note to come back later for cupcakes. They must be making them for tonight—Commissioner Gordon and his daughter are coming over for dinner again. Babs is a great kid, but at seven she really isn’t the right age to enjoy getting stuck as a playmate for a pair of toddlers. She tolerates the kids pretty well if they bribe her with cupcakes, though.

He has one more idea for where Jason might be hiding. And he _is_ hiding—he’s been a little off ever since the girls moved in. It’s been a few weeks now and he’s still acting weird. It’s time to get to the bottom of this.

Tim slips out onto the roof, squinting as his eyes tear up at the strength of the sunlight. Maybe he should get outside more during the day. Jason always teases him about being a vampire, but he’s never actually felt like hissing at sunlight until this moment. Blinking, he looks back and forth, scanning the rooftop for any sign of his best friend.

Relief flows through him as he spots Jason, who is sitting morosely with his legs dangling over the edge. “Jay! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He eyes him suspiciously. “Have you been smoking?”

“No,” Jason says guiltily, moving his hand out of sight. He’s obviously stubbing out a cigarette.

Tim rolls his eyes, carefully crossing over to sit beside him. “Gross, Jason. Now you’re going to taste like an ashtray.”

“Why would you care how I taste?” Jason turns to face him, one brow rising in a teasing manner.

Blushing, Tim sputters, “I d-don’t! Just, it’s probably gross for _you,_ right? Besides being incredibly unhealthy, not just for you but for everyone around you.” He winces internally. It’s getting harder to hide his embarrassing crush.

“That’s why I go on the roof to do it.” Jason sighs and kicks a foot, loosening a tiny chip of the ornate cornice and watching it fall.

Tim bites his lip, remembering why he came up here. “Look,” he says carefully, “You’ve been acting kind of weird for a while. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Jason says in a voice that doesn’t sound fine at all.

“Yeah, obviously. That’s why you’re up here smoking again after quitting over a year ago.” Jason hasn’t smoked at all since he turned fourteen. That’s one reason Tim checked the roof last—he was hoping he wouldn’t find him here. 

Jason winces, then scrubs a hand through his hair. He shakes his head. “Look, it’s not—it isn’t anything, not really. It’s stupid.”

“If it’s upsetting you like this, then it matters. Tell me?” Tim scoots a little closer to him, letting their shoulders brush together.

Sighing, Jason relents. “Fine. It’s just… when the girls got here. Did you see the paperwork?”

“For Steph or for Cass?”

“What does it matter? I know you totally hacked the files and looked at both of ‘em.”

Point. “Yeah, so? What about it?”

Jason sighs, kicking his foot again. “Cass got adopted. By Helena.”

Tim remains silent, continuing to stare at him expectantly until a minute passes and he realizes that’s it. “Wait, that’s what’s been bothering you?” His brows draw together. “I thought you liked Cass.”

“Huh? No! She’s fine—it’s not like that. Just… Why was she worth adopting and not me?” he asks plaintively, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I mean, I’ve been here more than two years now and no one ever even mentioned adoption.” He sighs, leaning forward and scrubbing his hands through his hair before lifting his head. “Forget it—I’m just making a big deal outta nothing—”

“It does not sound like nothing,” Damian’s voice says from right behind them. Fortunately, they’re used to him being a gigantic creeper so no one actually falls off the roof. Tim does jump slightly in surprise, but Jason scrambles to grab hold of him so he doesn’t go sliding.

“Damn it, D, stop _doing_ that!” Jason double checks that Tim isn’t going to slide off the roof before he lets go. “It’s one thing when you’re in the cowl, but at home you should at least try not to be so damn creepy.”

Damian scoffs. “I shall continue to move silently in order to teach you constant vigilance. Besides, you are attempting to change the subject. Jason,” he says, lowering himself stiffly to sit on Jason’s other side, his long legs hanging down off the edge of the roof. “Do you wish to be adopted as well?”

Jason blushes and picks at his jeans. “I don’t—look, can’t we just forget about all this? Wait, how’d you even know to come out here in the first place? Is Jon listening in on stuff and snitching to you again?”

“That is not the point,” Damian says, which Tim takes to mean as confirmation that that’s definitely what happened. It can be awkward living with someone who has superpowers. “If you are concerned about your position in this family, then that is an important matter deserving of discussion. Cassandra is a special case—David Cain is still alive and might make matters difficult for us someday. The adoption gives Helena a stronger legal position in order to protect Cass from her so-called father.” His jaw tenses and he frowns, obviously perturbed at the thought of the man who subjected a child to so much abuse.

“Oh,” Jason says, looking down and fiddling with his hands. “So that’s why. Uh, so no real reason neither of you ever offered to adopt me? Or Steph, or Tim?”

Damian clears his throat. “Stephanie’s mother is still alive and has entered a rehabilitation program—everyone involved hopes she will heal sufficiently to enable her to continue to be a meaningful part of her daughter’s life.” He pauses, then continues more slowly. “Timothy chose to be our ward instead of being adopted because he was not ready to lose the legal connection to his parents. As I recall, he also mentioned that he did not feel as though either of our names on his birth certificate would make a difference in the way we were all learning to care for one another.”

Tim jumps, not having expected to figure into this conversation except as moral support. “I asked not to be adopted,” he chimes in, wincing as he realizes that his rejection of the Waynes’ initial offer of adoption probably played into the current situation. They must have figured Jason would feel the same way he did. Oops. “They offered, but I didn’t want to have either of my parents’ names replaced on my birth certificate. We didn’t have the best relationship, but… They’re still my parents. They’re part of me. It felt like I’d be giving them up, you know?”

Jason swallows. “I already had a mom and dad on paper. My mom—she was the best. She tried so damn hard, even when life was dragging her under. I always knew she loved me. My fuckin’ _dad,_ though…” He snorts, shaking his head and kicking his foot desultorily against the wall again. “Fuck, Willis was a goddamn bastard. I _wish_ I could get that piece of shit offa my birth certificate.” 

Damian clears his throat, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “You could. If… you were amenable. I would be honored if you would allow me to adopt you, Jason.”

Jason turns to him, his eyes wide. “Really?” He looks so hopeful and pleased. Damian is smiling now, clearly relieved at Jason’s positive reaction to his offer.

Tim smiles too as he watches them, his heart considerably lighter than when he came out here. He’ll let them talk for a few more minutes, and then maybe they’ll go check out those cupcakes.

He’s so glad he decided to chase Jason down tonight.

*

Things are going pretty great after Jason’s impromptu heart to heart with Tim and Damian. It’s a little weird being Damian’s legal son—geez, the guy was like _thirteen_ when Jason was born. Maybe it’s not physically impossible for him to be his father, but still.

Weirdness aside, though, it’s awesome. He keeps catching Damian looking at him with a proud look on his face, and he and Jon took Jason aside at one point to ask how involved he wants them to be in his everyday life. He spends a little more time one on one with them and the kiddies, and gets to go with them on their trips out to Kansas to visit Ma and Pa Kent and Kon—who, by the way, is _awesome._ The eighteen year-old has a mohawk, rides around on a motorcycle, and single handedly started a punk trend among the youth of Smallville. Not to mention he gets to have all the homemade pie he wants, when he isn’t busy being Superboy and saving the world. Jason kinda wants to be him when he grows up.

In the end, not much actually changed after the adoption, and yet—somehow, it feels like everything did. It’s been easier to get along with the girls, too. His whole life seems to be falling into place.

Of course, that’s when everything goes straight to hell.

The night starts out deceptively well. Shrike and Crow are patrolling together like usual, teasing each other over their private comm channel as they fly over the rooftops. They’re getting pretty close to Crime Alley, which is guaranteed to have something nefarious going on even on a quiet night like this. Shrike grins.

“Hey, I bet I can bring down more muggers than you!” He swings down into the street below and cushions his landing by using a shrieking would-be mugger as an involuntary, flailing crash pad. “One,” he announces, then moves into a swift uppercut to bring down a second attacker. “Two.” He fucking loves the weighted gauntlets on his Shrike costume. The black uniform with its subtle gold accents looks pretty damn cool, too.

Crow chuckles as he drops out of the darkness, his bo-staff unfolding and swirling mesmerizingly through the air as he brings down a whole crowd of thugs at once, somehow kicking one of them in the throat between twirls of his bo-staff. “Three,” he says smugly. Shrike swallows and tries to ignore the sudden tightness in his jock.

They both rapidly secure their prizes and then dart into different alleys. Shrike cackles when he lucks out and finds a bonanza—there’s what looks like a drug deal gone wrong in his ally, with half a dozen thugs squaring off against each other, guns drawn. They’re not exactly muggers, but they’ll do. A few minutes and a barrage of batarangs, smoke bombs, and well-aimed kicks to the face later, he pants out with a breathless grin, “Seven!”

“Five,” Crow’s crestfallen-sounding voice reaches him from the adjacent alley after a minute. He must’ve only found a couple of criminals in his alley. Sucker.

“I win!” Shrike chortles as he finishes binding his pile of criminals, then jogs back out into the street where Crow has just finished calling it in to GCPD. “What’s my prize?” He’s already looking forward to being treated to chilidogs, or maybe chili cheese fries.

Crow blushes for some reason. “Uh, what do you want it to be? You can have anything you want.”

Shrike’s heart speeds up, excitement pooling in his belly as his mind races to fill in suggestions. All of them are wildly inappropriate and _damn_ appealing, if only he thought Crow were interested, too. “Lemme think about it,” he says to buy time. He pulls out his grapnel and shoots for the sky, and then he’s flying again before Crow has a chance to call him on it. A moment later, he sees his partner flying at his side, just a heartbeat behind him. “If I wasn’t such a damn coward, I’d ask for a kiss,” he murmurs to himself, daring to say it aloud only because he knows the wind will steal his words.

Well, it would have, if only he wasn’t a _dumbass_ who forgot the damn private channel was still open.

“That can be arranged,” Crow says, his voice strangely breathy.

Shrike just about falls out of the sky.

Crow catches him, because of course he does, swooping in immediately to scoop him up in one arm and cradle him tightly against his strong body. He lands safely on a nearby warehouse rooftop where he sets Shrike gently on his feet. His hands linger on Shrike’s upper arms, as though he’s afraid he’ll fall again if he lets go.

Shrike buries his face in his hands, unable to appreciate the romance of the rescue because he’s seriously considering the merits of moving to another country and changing his name. “Fuck, this is the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me. And that includes the time Damian caught me singing goddamn _baby shark_ and doing the dance for the brats.”

Snickering, Crow squeezes his arms gently. “Whatever, that was hilarious. And you know we all end up doing that—it’s a known side effect of having little kids around. Why do you think I introduced Bruce and Clark to the fox song? Someday, we’re going to get footage of Batman singing sheer nonsense about what the fox says, and it will be _glorious.”_

He chuckles despite himself, then lowers his hands with a tremulous sigh and looks at his best friend. “Yeah, okay. That’ll definitely make up for it. Especially if he does it with the cowl on.” Knowing Crow, he has a detailed seven-point plan in mind for making it happen.

“Oh, he will. I’m only on step three so far, though,” Crow says with a little smile, confirming his assumption.

Shrike really wants to kiss that smile. That reminds him of what he accidentally let slip, and he writhes in mental agony for a moment before remembering what Crow said in response. For the first time, he allows himself to cautiously hope. “Hey, uh—so, about what you just said—” Fuck it, this is impossible. There’s no way he can ask without combusting from embarrassment.

Fortunately, Crow seems to read his thoughts. Biting his lip, he nods. “I meant it,” he says softly, flushing. “But obviously I’m not going to hold you to that if you don’t really—” 

Shrike cuts him off right there, leaning forward and tipping his head to the right to press their lips together. He hasn’t done much—okay, any—kissing in his life, but he’s pretty sure he’s doing okay so far. At least they didn’t bump noses. It’s pretty convenient that they’re the same height now so no one has to stand on their tip toes, too.

Crow lets out a tiny, choked sound, his grip on Shrike’s arms tightening as his mouth begins to move, soft and sweet against him. Shrike surges forward at the encouragement, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and drawing him in closer. His heart is pounding like crazy and he can’t help breaking the kiss after a minute because they’re both smiling so damn hard. Turns out, it’s kind of hard to kiss when you’re both grinning and fighting euphoric laughter.

“Wow,” he says after a minute, still breathing hard into Crow’s feather-soft hair. “Can that always be my prize from now on?”

Crow snickers, his warm breath ticking Shrike’s neck and sending pulses of sensation thrilling through his entire body. “Of course. Is it unromantic if I say I still want coffee when I win?” He raises his head with a playful grin.

Shrike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it kinda is. No worries, though—I’ll just make sure I always win from now on.” One or both of them moves, and then they’re kissing again. Every touch seems magnified, his body aching for more even as joy surges through him at even getting this much.

He never wants to stop, but after a while shouts from the street and warehouse below them finally drag their attention back to their surroundings. “That doesn’t sound good,” he whispers, reluctant to let this moment end.

Crow nods, frowning. “Stay behind me,” he says, all business, and Shrike immediately straightens. That’s not a tone of voice Crow uses except in the most serious situations. He must’ve already picked up on something—but what? He can’t hear anything but shouting, and something that sounds faintly like laughter.

They edge cautiously to a nearby rooftop access door and crack it open just enough to see what’s going on inside the warehouse. Shrike’s heart drops into his shoes at what he sees. There’s no mistaking that garish costume or the mad laughter that seems to fill the air with dread. It’s the Joker.

Worse, he has a captive. There’s a child down there, bound to a chair. She’s visibly fighting tears, her control clearly hanging by a thread. She looks terrified.

“Crow to base, we have a situation.” The urgent words continue softly as Crow murmurs into his comm and describes the scene.

Meanwhile, Shrike watches in horror as the Joker leans forward, extending his boutonniere toward the little girl. She struggles back with a look of horror on her tiny face and tries to squirm away as best she can.

Joker leers down at her. “C’mon, sweets, stop and smell the flowers! Relax, kiddie—your daddy can be here soon! It’s all up to you now. Just take a little sniff, and I’ll even give him a call and tell him exactly where you are!”

Shrike knows that boutonniere does. The Joker is about to use _fear toxin_ on a child. He’s going to drug and torture her right in front of them. Shrike’s vision goes white. All the pain and sorrow of his mom’s drug use and long decline, everything he saw and survived on the streets—it all comes pouring through him and blinds him for a minute. His mind shuts down. The next thing he knows, he’s landing on the warehouse floor, Crow’s startled shouts from above ringing in his ears.

Shit. Well, now that he’s here, there’s only one thing to do. Shrike lashes out, knocking down the first three clown-faced goons who attack him with brutal punches and kicks. He’s never going to get tired of the weighted boots and gauntlets. They make every blow _hurt._

Behind him, he hears more screams and thumps as Crow drops into the fray. His heart is still racing with fear and adrenaline, but knowing his partner has his back settles him somewhat. It doesn’t feel like anything truly bad can happen, not with Crow here.

Backup’s got to be just minutes away, too. They can do this.

“Get the girl!” Crow calls as he engages the Joker. Shrike unquestioningly rushes to her side. He quickly frees the little redhead, who looks to be about seven or eight. He almost chokes on his tongue when he sees her face and realizes that this is _Babs,_ little Barbara Gordon _._ Holy shit. Thank fuck she’s more level headed than most kids her age would be, refraining from screaming or panicking as he lifts her in his arms and begins to search for a way out. She doesn’t know their secret identities, so as far as she knows, he’s a stranger.

A muffled groan has him turning back to the fight. He goes cold at the sight of Crow, who is clutching his side as the Joker slowly withdraws a knife. The blade is red. Shrike’s heart slams as ice floods his veins. He can’t _think._

“Well, it seems my little party’s been crashed,” the Joker says, grinning fiendishly. “Oh well! Looks like I managed to get three presents for the price of one! Gordon _and_ the Bats are going to remember this blowout bash _forever!_ Ha ha HA!” He struts toward the exit, cackling cruelly. He raises an arm, flourishing some kind of device clutched in his hand, and then dramatically presses a button. Metal security gates begin to descend over all the doors and windows in the warehouse as the remaining goons grab their injured and drag them toward the exits, fleeing in their master’s wake.

Shit.

Well, literally none of this looks good. Clearly, he and Crow dropped straight into a trap the Joker was preparing for Commissioner Gordon. Shrike knows damn well Gordon would tear the world apart if anything happened to his eight year-old daughter. Hell.

Shrike looks at the little girl in his arms, then at Crow, who just sank to one knee and is clutching at his side. There’s a worrying red stain spreading beneath his hand. Shrike needs to take the hostage to safety, but—

“Just give me a batarang,” a sharp little voice demands, and he blinks down to see Babs adjust her glasses calmly. She wiggles free and holds out her hand. “I’ll run out and hide. You help him.”

He really shouldn’t, but—Shrike hands her a batarang and she takes off. He hurries to Crow’s side, watching to make sure Babs escapes through a side door before the security doors finish descending.

“Fuck, Crow, I’m so sorry—” he starts, steadying him with a hand on his back before quickly checking his wound. It’s bleeding freely and doesn’t look shallow. His throat tightens and he shoves the guilt down. Right now, he needs to focus on stabilizing his partner and getting him out of here before whatever other shit Joker had planned for that poor kid goes down.

He can drown himself in guilt later.

“Hey,” Crow says, looking concerned as he raises one bloodstained hand to Shrike’s face. His eyes widen as he looks past Shrike and sucks in a breath at whatever he sees. “This isn’t your fault,” he chokes out, then tackles him to the floor, covering them both with his cape and wrapping his arms protectively around Shrike’s head and neck.

“What the fu—” Shrike says, just as the world explodes.

The next thing he knows, he’s alone and choking on smoke.

Shrike scrambles desperately for his comm. “Crow!” There’s no answer, and he swears as he realizes the damn comm is broken. Coughing, he lifts himself up on his elbow, squinting and trying to see through the smoke. There’s a roaring in his ears and his heart is pounding as he frantically searches the burning warehouse for his best friend. _“Tim!”_

The last thing he saw before the explosion was Crow, tackling him to the floor and then covering him with his own body. He should be _right here._

Blinded by the smoke, Shrike forces his unresponsive muscles to roll onto his side and then breathes shallowly as he fumbles for his rebreather. He clasps it on and then starts feeling around himself. Crow has to be here. He has to be okay.

If he isn’t—

He can’t think about that right now.

His gloved hand brushes against something to his right and he immediately rolls to his knees, ignoring the stab of pain in his abdomen caused by the movement. That’s not important right now. The only important thing is making sure Tim is okay. Shrike slides his arms carefully under the other vigilante and then lurches to his feet, heading for a section of the wall that seems to have collapsed, creating an escape route. He carries him out of the burning warehouse, handling him as gently as possible. It’s bad to move someone with unknown injuries, but he’s pretty sure it’s worse to leave them in a fiery inferno that’s literally collapsing around them.

Once they’re out in the cold night air a reasonable distance from the flames, Shrike sets Crow down with infinite care on a clean-looking patch of sidewalk. He jerks off his glove and feels his way until he finds Crow’s throat. It’s slippery—he tries hard not to think about what that means—and it takes him a second to find the right spot.

At first, he thinks his fingers just aren’t in the right place. He adjusts them. Then does it again. And then he’s fighting back a sob as he throws himself into the practiced motions of cardiopulmonary resuscitation, counting compressions and then fitting his lips to Crow’s still, slack mouth for the rescue breaths. He wants to sob as the cheerful beats of Stayin’ Alive by the goddamn Bee Gees echo in his ears, the memory of Helena teaching him and Tim how to perform CPR to the rhythm of that song playing out in the back of his mind like an agonizing reminder of happier times.

He doesn’t know how long it continues. Dimly, he registers the others arriving. Someone’s crying. It might be him.

He fights like hell when they try to pull him away, and then he’s wrenched loose and finds himself clasped tight against a familiar, black-armored chest. None of this feels real, not Batwoman working frantically over Crow’s limp form, or Agent J’s expression of deep sorrow after Batwoman finally stops. It can’t be real.

Agent J gently rests a hand on Crow’s still, bloodstained brow for a long moment before she rises, looking older than her forty-four years as she reaches out to help Batwoman load him slowly into the Bats’ emergency van. They put a sheet over his face. How is he supposed to breathe with a sheet over his face?

Shrike makes a protesting noise and tries to follow, but someone is still holding him back. None of it feels real, not until he realizes the arms that are holding him are shaking. Batman’s chest heaves as he fights for control.

That’s the moment Jason’s heart finally breaks. “Tim,” he chokes out, numbness finally giving way to agonizing pain. A moment later, he’s being shuffled into the Batmobile and held tightly by strong arms as Damian whispers soothing words in a voice so broken it’s hard to recognize as his.

He doesn’t try to tell Jason it will be okay. They’d both know it would be a lie.

He’s sixteen, and it feels like he just lost everything again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Jason, as other kids join the Bats:** “Yay more friends!” *High five, go on patrol together* “Life is the best!” *Share romantic rooftop kiss*  
>  **Jason, giddy with joy after kissing Tim for the first time:** “This is the happiest moment of my life”  
>  **Joker, popping up out of nowhere like a goddamn horror movie:** “Lol nope!” *Murders Tim to death before Jason’s horrified gaze*  
>  **Jason, weeping and tearing his shirt in grief:** “I shall never love another!”   
> **Damian, deeply uncomfortable and also very sad:** *Pats him awkwardly on the head* “There there” *Mentally plans next visit to Arkham and how best to exact vengeance on the Joker for this outrage*


	6. Chapter 6

The new kid is okay. Jason doesn’t really want to admit it, but Dickie is actually really fucking adorable. It’s just hard to see someone new in the family—almost like the kid is trying to fill Tim’s empty place. He’s pretty sure he isn’t the only one who feels that way either, considering the fact that Julia still sets Tim’s spot at the dining table and glares at anyone who tries to sit there.

She even snapped at Commissioner Gordon once when he unthinkingly started to sit down in that spot. She looked like she was going to cry. Gordon was great about it, though—he walked her out of the room and came back later with his arm draped comfortingly around her shoulders. No one mentioned her red eyes.

Jason is still not sure if Gordon knows about their vigilante activities. Either way, the man has definitely been extra supportive of all of the Waynes ever since the Bats saved his daughter at such a terrible cost to themselves. Of course, he might just be sympathetic because he knows the cover story that Damian and Helena released about their foster kid having been killed in a freak explosion, collateral damage in one of Gotham’s many tragedies.

Even a year later, it still blindsides Jason sometimes. He’ll be sitting at the table chomping on a slice of bacon or something and then he’ll turn to the right, expecting to see Tim there, half-asleep and sucking down coffee. When he sees the empty chair and remembers, it hits him all over again that Tim’s gone. It makes his heart twist, his eyes stinging and throat closing up every damn time like it’s the first.

He’s starting to think he’ll never really get over losing Tim. Maybe it’s not surprising, consider it’s definitely his fault Tim died. He doesn’t regret saving Commissioner Gordon’s kid—Babs is a little firecracker, and it’s been sweet watching the way she tries to make friends with Dick whenever Helena and Damian invite the Gordons over for dinner. He thinks about what Joker had planned for her, and he knows there’s no way in hell either he or Tim could’ve just stood by and watched it happen.

Still, he can’t help but think that if he’d just played things differently, Tim could’ve lived.

Jason’s throat closes up again and he blinks hard, trying to shut down his annoying physical reactions. He eyes the front door, seriously considering grabbing one of the motorcycles and just taking a long ride through the city. It’s been hard to spend time around Wayne Manor, constantly confronted by the empty space where Tim should be.

It has gotten worse ever since Damian and Helena rescued the damn circus brat and solved his parents’ murder. Not that Jason doesn’t feel for the poor kid—losing his folks like that was horrible. Of course he doesn’t resent Damian’s and Helena’s decision to take him home, not after the terrible tragedy that played right in front of them on the fateful night when they decided to take the whole gang to see the acrobatic show. Hell, he’s just glad that Damian and Jon managed to cover the toddlers’ faces in time so the kids didn’t see.

Cass covered Steph’s eyes and tried to cover Jason’s, despite her being younger than them. He almost wishes he’d let her.

No, it isn’t a lack of sympathy. It’s just that once the case was solved and the murderer was brought to justice, Dick Grayson’s true personality started to shine through. His relentless exuberance and cheerful chatter are really fucking annoying when all Jason wants is some damn peace and quiet so he can wallow in his lingering grief.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Dick’s annoyingly cheerful voice pipes up from somewhere above him, because of _course_ it does.

Jason startles and then looks up. Why did the voice sound like it was coming from the ceiling? If he has to go into the goddamn vents after that damn kid again, he’s going to be pissed. He has to crane his head back to see the grinning twelve year-old, who is—his heart starts pounding as he realizes what he’s looking at. Holy shit.

“What the fuck? How’d you even get up there? Get down, dumbass—the chandelier can’t take your weight!” Jason half-reaches toward the little idiot, as though trying to pluck him from the air and rescue him from his own reckless antics.

This isn’t the first time Dick has gotten himself into a ridiculous position—he has been found on every tall wardrobe and bookshelf in the house, on the roof leaping between gables, and he has a distressing habit of just appearing through windows with no apparent means of support. Some of those windows have been several stories above the ground.

None of that is anything that would worry him if it was one of the others. Training and safety gear go a long way to soothing his concerns. The problem is, this kid doesn’t have any of that beyond whatever training his parents must’ve given him growing up.

It’s not that Jason actually likes the kid or anything. He’s just concerned, like anyone would be. “Seriously. C’mon down from there, Dickie, and I’ll steal you a cookie.” He’s pretty sure Julia will forgive him if he says it was a bribe to save the brat from peril.

The kid laughs and then has the audacity to start rocking his body, sending the immense crystal chandelier swinging as Jason twitches, his body jerking forward involuntarily in expectation of imminent tragedy. “It’s fine! Trust me, I checked the anchor point and everything. Guess the Waynes build things to last.”

“Uh, that’s great, kid,” Jason says gruffly, eyeing said anchor point mistrustfully as a few flakes of plaster break off under the strain. “Looks real solid to me, too.” It doesn’t. “So, you wanna maybe come down now?”

“Only if you promise to take me down to the Bat Cave!” Dick gives him a dazzling smile, his dark blue eyes so damn hopeful it almost hurts.

Jason kind of wants to tell him no just on principle. Helena and Damian put their foot down the first time they caught him sneaking out at night to hunt for his parents’ killer. Dick’s not allowed to train or go on patrol until he’s fifteen, the same age Jason was when he started actually going out as Shrike.

He’s pretty sure no one has told Dick that Tim was younger than him when he became a vigilante. Of course, Tim is probably not the best example, considering. Not to mention, he’s definitely the reason there are more rules in place now. Especially the one about Dick having to partner with Batman once he’s old enough to patrol.

Anyway, Helena and Damian were really firm about keeping Dick away from that side of their lives until he’s older. Jason gets it. He does.

Then again, the motorcycles are down in the Cave. So are at least one or two of the other Bats, most likely. If he takes the kid down there, he can hand him off to Damian or Helena or the girls, depending on who’s down there, and then be on his way to mope to his heart’s content somewhere far from excitable brats and memories of the partner he got killed. His face twists at the stinging reminder.

Decision made, Jason nods. “Sure, kid. Let’s do it.” He really shouldn’t be surprised when Dick’s reaction is to release an exuberant shout and leap into his arms.

He is. “Damn it, kid—” he sputters in shock, clutching at the hysterically laughing idiot. His heart is thumping wildly because he barely managed to catch him. God. “Be more careful!”

“Okay, no worries!” Dick says, clearly not planning to be more careful. Dumbass.

Grumbling, Jason turns and ambles toward the hall, still carrying him in his arms as he heads for the study. He doesn’t bother trying to hide what he’s doing as he repositions the hands of the grandfather clock. Literally everyone knows Dick used it to sneak into the Bat Cave a few times before Helena put her foot down, so he must know exactly how to trigger the secret door.

Sure enough, Dick doesn’t seem surprised at all when it swings open. He just wiggles in excitement, his squirming annoying Jason enough that he drops him. “Ow,” he complains, bouncing happily to the floor in a way that looks anything but hurt. “Hey, do you think they’d let me use the aerials down there?”

Jason considers it. The aerial equipment was Damian’s idea, to get ready for when Dick is old enough to train. It was a bitch and a half to install. Thinking back, he half-suspects that maybe Damian instigated the project just as much to pull Jason out of his fugue as to provide training equipment for someone who wasn’t supposed to be using it for about three years.

He scowls. Stupid, sneakily considerate Damian. It would serve him right if Jason brought the kid down there right now and let him loose on the aerials. Actually… That equipment might as well get some use after all the work Jason put into it. His respect for everything in the Bat Cave grew exponentially once he realized Helena and Damian built and installed all of it themselves, with occasional help from Julia and later, Tim. That doesn’t mean he enjoys being used as a source of free labor, though. He grins. “You know what? Yeah, I think that’s a great idea.”

Dick practically skips down the stairs into the Bat Cave, bouncing off the walls—sometimes literally—as he chatters happily about all the routines he wants to try.

“Hey, what’s the baby doing down here?” Steph’s voice draws their attention to the yoga mats, where she’s contorted into an unholy posture that makes Jason wince in sympathy. Cass is next to her, somehow making the same pose look serene and dignified. It’s uncanny.

“I’m not a baby!” Dick says, his hands on his hips. “I’m _twelve!”_ He looks inordinately proud of that accomplishment.

“Ah, yes, clearly you’re practically an adult. My mistake.” Steph tries to keep a straight face but breaks after a moment and collapses to the mat with a snort of laughter. Untwisting her limbs, she winces. “Gah, stretching with Cass is a workout on its own.”

“Getting better,” Cass offers, smiling at her. “More bendy.”

Jason shakes his head. “Yeah, I’ll pass. I have no desire to spend any amount of time bending myself into weird shapes.”

At his side, Dick practically vibrates with excitement. “Oh my gosh, I _love_ bending myself into weird shapes!” He looks longingly at the yoga mat.

Cass bites her lip, then glances over to Steph. As the oldest of them—now that Tim’s gone—Steph’s the one who’ll shoulder the most blame if they break the rules while their guardians aren’t around. Steph raises an eyebrow, clearly considering the situation. After a minute, she shrugs and grins brightly. “Screw it! I say Dick can train, as long as one of us is down here with him. After all, how’s he supposed to be a vigilante when he’s fifteen if we never teach him how it’s done?”

She’s got a point. Dick whoops and gets a running start before tumbling into an impressive sequence of handsprings and flips, landing on the mats at the end with a cheerful bounce. “Awesome! Can you show me that pose you were just doing one more time?”

Jason frowns. “Uh, Cass is still doing it. Can’t you just look at her?”

Dick cackles. “Yeah, obviously. I just wanted to see the way Steph did it again. It was hilarious!”

Steph flushes. “Shut up, brat! I can still rescind my decision to let you train in here!” She mock-glares at the kid, who just grins and then twists himself into an honest-to-god pretzel.

“Jesus,” Jason whispers, repressing a cringe. His body aches just looking at that. He shakes his head, then turns longingly toward the garage area. His teenage angst is calling him. “Anyway, you kids have fun—”

“Wait.”

At the soft voice, he turns back. He might’ve been able to ignore Steph or Dick, but this is Cass. She doesn’t talk much, but when she does, it means something. “Yeah?”

“Stay?” She looks at him with almost too much sympathy and understanding in her dark eyes. Of everyone in their hodge-podge mess of a family, Cass is the one who has probably lived through the worst hell. She’s also the one who has given him the most space over the past year. If she’s reaching out now…

Maybe it’s time for him to accept a helping hand.

“Uh, sure,” he says, wondering what the hell he’s doing even as he carefully lowers himself to the mat next to the others. “But if you’re expecting me to do _that—_ ” he nods toward Dick, who is folded in a way that shouldn’t be possible for anyone possessing a spine, “it ain’t happening.”

Steph snickers. “I’ll give you five bucks if you can do it.”

His eyes narrow as he stares at the blonde. Five bucks equals at least two chilidogs at the place over on Fifth. “Deal,” he says. Challenge accepted.

It hurts, but it’s worth it.

“There’s no _way_ you should’ve been able to pull that off,” Steph grumbles as she reluctantly forks over the five. “All those bulky muscles should cut your flexibility down to nothing.”

He grins, pocketing his winnings. “You’d think that, but Damian wouldn’t let me get that musclebound. You should see _his_ flexibility regime—it’s a goddamn nightmare.”

Cass looks up, interest sparked. “Show us?”

“You’ve totally seen him do it before. You just want to watch me suffer, don’t you?” He eyes her suspiciously.

“Please?”

It’s impossible to say no to Cass. Jason sighs, then moves into the first pose. Dick and Cass follow him easily. Steph manages after a minute and a few choice curses.

“This is so much fun!” Dick cheers. “Can we do Helena’s training regimen next?” He has way too much energy and enthusiasm. It makes Jason feel tired just watching him.

“Sure!” Steph agrees recklessly, even though she’s already starting to look tired, too. Cass just looks happy and inhumanly flexible. Jason has a feeling this is going to be exhausting.

He’s right.

As Jason collapses, groaning theatrically after what feels like hours of increasingly ridiculous stretches followed by a series of acrobatic exercises courtesy Dick, he feels every damn muscle in his body. They’re all complaining. He’s not sure even chilidogs are worth this.

Steph and Dick are watching him and cackling, and Cass looks like she wants to join them. He shakes his head. “Assholes,” he says without heat. As they snicker and discuss lunch options, Jason realizes this is the longest he’s gone without thinking about Tim in a while.

It still hurts, but maybe… Maybe it’s okay to be happy sometimes, too. 

He sits up with a sigh and gives his weird almost-family a crooked smile. “Why is this even a debate? Obviously, we’re having chilidogs.”

They don’t even try to argue.

* * *

Tim draws back into the mouth of the alley, feeling cold. He came back to Gotham just to check on things, to see for himself instead of blindly trusting Ra’s al Ghul’s claims.

He hadn’t expected it to be true.

Everyone moved on without him. His chest tightens and his stomach sinks as he watches the group of teens hanging out in front of the food truck, all of them laughing and obviously having a great time. It shouldn’t hurt this much to see them being happy.

But it does. That’s the food truck he and Jason used to hit up while they were on patrol. These are his friends, the closest thing to a family he has left, and—

A sob catches in his throat and he covers his mouth with shaking fingers, squeezing his eyes closed against the hot, stinging tears that well up. He died less than a mile from here. Do they even care? Do any of them remember him, or think about him anymore?

If even _Jason’s_ moved on, there’s no way any of the others would be any different. Steph and Cass didn’t have time to know him that well. Helena and Damian probably have too much on their hands to bother over someone who forced his way into their lives, then _failed_ at his own self-appointed mission _._

Heck, they even have another new kid. He’s probably already training and ready to take Tim’s place. Might even be able to fit the Crow costume pretty soon, if he wants it. Tim always was on the small side.

He shudders, taking shallow breaths so he doesn’t give himself away by sobbing aloud.

Coming back here was a mistake.

Tim knew he could never go back, not really. Not now, not after everything Ra’s did to him, everything he made him do. He’s not what he was.

Not for the first time, he wonders if things would’ve been better if he’d stayed dead. He shakes his head, dismissing the thought as irrelevant. He’s alive. The Pit made sure of that. Now he just has to deal with it.

Movement in the corner of his vision catches his attention and he represses a sigh. Of course Ra’s sent assassins to keep an eye on him. He wouldn’t want to lose track of his investment. Laughter from the street draws his thoughts back to the group of teens. He feels a quick stab of worry that the League might take an interest in Gotham and the others if he lingers here too long.

Tim bites his lip, shoving down the pain and longing as he hears Jason’s rich laughter ringing out above the rest. He can’t stay, not knowing that his mere presence in the city will draw the League’s attention.

Well, it’s about time for him to move on, anyway. After all, there’s nothing for him here. Not anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, visibly still moping a year after Tim’s death:** “I’m just gonna go take a ride on my motorcycle and listen to angsty music—”  
>  **Steph, laughing:** “Lol nope! Come have chilidogs with us” *Grabs Cass and Dick, throws them all in a car* “Let’s go!”  
>  **Jason, whispering:** “Chilidogs—my Achilles heel. Fine” *Goes along with them. Takes bite of chilidog, smiles for the first time in a year*  
>  **Tim, peeking around a corner at that exact moment:** *Swallows back a sob as his heart breaks* “Oh. They don’t remember or miss me at all. Clearly, my death didn’t matter to them in the slightest” *Leaves Gotham, tears streaming down his face, too distraught to even stop for a fajita cheesesteak*  
> *  
> Shout out this chapter to feriswheel | eris for giving me permission to use the line “omg i LOVE bending myself into weird shapes” after they said it on the Jaytim Red on Red discord server while I was writing this chapter. It just fit perfectly into the scene I was working on at the time. Thanks, eris!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to implied/assumed non con.

“No,” Jason says flatly, shaking his head like that will clear the buzzing sound in his ears. “That’s not— _no.”_

If Tim were alive, he would’ve known. There’s no way. There _isn’t._

Damian’s expression softens even more and he looks like he’s about to say something comforting and understanding. That’s the last thing Jason needs right now, but he can’t seem to get any words out past the lump lodged in his throat. If anyone tries to say something nice to him right now, he’s going to lose it. Can’t they see that?

At least they had the sense to get him alone before having this conversation. He’s not sure he could stand it if the kids were bouncing all over or Steph and Cass were looking at him with the same sad, understanding expression as Damian. Thank fuck for Jon. He must’ve volunteered to distract all of them. There’s no other reason any sane man would volunteer to take all those brats on in a paintball fight on the grounds. Superhuman or not, he’s going to be annihilated.

Mercifully, Helena interrupts before her brother can say anything good-intentioned that’ll break Jason into a million tiny pieces. “We have suspected that the League of Assassins was hiding something big for the past year—of course, at first we thought it was just one of their usual plots. We detected an elevated level of League activity in Gotham last fall, which led us to actively investigate them as opposed to our normal level of passive monitoring. When we started leaning on our contacts, we—well, we heard some very disturbing things.”

“What?” he whispers, knowing the answer might just break him. He wants to close his eyes, but he can’t tear them away from Helena Wayne’s steady gaze.

She looks pained. “We have reason to believe that Tim was actually in Gotham briefly last fall—hence the elevated presence of League assassins in the city at that time. There were a few seconds of footage. Not many, and the only cameras that picked him up were those which were installed after his death.”

Ones he wouldn’t have known about, Jason thinks numbly. He still can’t—won’t—believe it. Hope is too risky. 

Damian picks up the explanation. “Of course, we suspected a lookalike, clone, or perhaps counterpart from an alternate universe. With the obvious League involvement, we immediately began searching for evidence of some nefarious plot. We never even considered the possibility—” He breaks off, grimacing. 

Helena resumes when it’s clear he isn’t going to continue. “It was Talia who told us the truth, in the end. By doing so, she broke a promise to her father, made when Damian was just a child.” She hesitates, glancing at her brother searchingly.

Beside her, Damian flinches, and Jason has questions about that. They’ll keep. Right now, he needs to hear this. “Go on.”

Helena’s face is shadowed. “It was the Lazarus Pit. Ra’s took Tim—we think he must’ve used unknown magical assistance to steal him from his grave, because none of our monitoring equipment picked anything up. Regardless of how he did it, based on Talia’s intel and the data we have been able to gather, Ra’s put Tim into the Pit almost two years ago.” She closes her eyes and Jason sees the glint of tears on her smooth cheeks. “It worked.” Her low voice trembles.

Tim has been dead for three years. Hasn’t he?

“But—” If he’s been _back_ all this time, then why hasn’t he found a way to come home? “Why?” Jason’s voice cracks in a way it hasn’t since he was fourteen and just figured out he liked boys by watching Tim practice shirtless with his bo-staff.

“That is what we intend to find out,” Damian says grimly, his eyes narrow. “Grandfather never does anything without several layers of underlying motivations. I would not trust him under any circumstances, let alone these. He never approved of my fostering children who were not mine by blood. I dread to think what reasons he may have had for taking Timothy.”

Helena nods solemnly. “We know the Joker disappeared from Arkham under mysterious circumstances not long after Timothy was taken. Further investigation shows traces of League influence there. We are uncertain what purpose Ra’s might have had for taking the Joker, too, but we intend to find out.”

A frisson of disbelieving horror blooms in Jason’s chest at the thought of Tim in Ra’s al Ghul’s hands, possibly tortured by the twin evils of Ra’s al Ghul and the Joker working together. God, no. He already died—how can things possibly get even _worse?_

“The knowledge that Timothy has been in my grandfather’s power for all of these years, perhaps confused and vulnerable due to the trauma he endured—” Damian clears his throat, looking away and blinking rapidly. His hands tense until the skin stretched across his knuckles turns white. “I will never forgive him for this,” he swears.

Helena covers his hand with hers and squeezes. “We can’t change the past, but we can damn well change the future. We’re going to do everything we can to fix this.” She stares at her brother until he returns her gaze and nods, his grim expression clearing to a look of determination.

“Of course.”

“We’re leaving tonight to investigate this, Jay,” Helena says, turning back to Jason. “We need you to look after the others while we’re gone.”

Everything in him screams that if any of this is true, if Tim is out there somewhere, then he needs to be there with them. “Fuck, no. I’m coming with you!”

She shakes her head, looking sympathetic but unmoved. “I know how you must feel. He was your best friend. I’m sorry, but there’s still a chance this is some kind of trap and that Ra’s is trying to draw our strongest fighters away from Gotham so the League can make a move here. We need to leave you and Jon here. Between you and the girls, you can work out a patrol schedule so that two of you are always here with the kids while the others are on patrol. We can’t afford to take anyone else with us.”

 _We can’t risk losing anyone else_ , is what he hears.

“Oh,” he says hoarsely. Images of Tim fill his mind—moving gracefully through katas in the Cave, shuffling around in pajamas with that ridiculous bedhead he used to get, his dorky laughter when he managed to pull a prank on Batman, their one achingly sweet kiss—he’s so alive in those memories, forever seventeen. God, he’d be twenty now. If he was dead a year, does that make him nineteen, like Jason?

Jason’s head is starting to spin. All he wants is to storm Nanda Parbat with them, grab al Ghul by his fucking wizened throat, and shake him until he gives up all the secrets he’s stolen. Then Helena’s words sink in and he thinks of Dick, fourteen now and so excited about debuting his new vigilante identity after his birthday next year. He chose the name Robin, of all things. Only he would look at all their dark, scary vigilante personas and choose a chirpy, bright little songbird as his.

He thinks of Bruce and Clark, five years old and the exact opposite in terms of personality. Bruce is quiet, thoughtful, gentle, and considerate—and something of an evil mastermind. Clark’s more outgoing, friendly, blunt, and completely incapable of lying. Somehow, the two of them manage to combine forces to get into more mischief than all the other inhabitants of Wayne Manor combined.

Jason would die before he let anything happen to any of them. With a sinking heart, he realizes what he’s going to do. “You bring him home,” he says fiercely. “I don’t care what the fuck you hafta do to get it done.” His brow furrows as doubt stabs him. Wait—Helena said this might all turn out to be an elaborate trap. “Unless—if this isn’t real—” His throat closes up again and his knees go weak. 

Damian shakes his head. “Jason, we would not have told you were we not utterly certain. I promise you, it is Timothy.” He looks shattered, but that’s hope burning in his dark green eyes. When Jason looks at her, Helena has the same expression.

In that moment, he starts to believe.

* * *

Batwoman clutches Ra’s al Ghul’s throat in her gauntlet as he writhes and chokes. It would be so easy to crush him. Every evil he has perpetrated over his long centuries of stolen life, all the terrible wrongs he has committed against so many—it would be _so easy_ to squeeze a little harder and bring it all to an end, right here and right now.

She shakes with the superhuman effort of holding back, her teeth bared in a grimace of loathing. She thinks of the footage Talia provided after they made contact with her. She watched it all, even though she sometimes wishes she hadn’t. The League training methods are brutal. Knowing it’s something her little brother endured for the first six years of his life is one thing. Watching the child she raised for over six years of _his_ life—and seventeen is still a _child,_ damn it—endure that torture is something else entirely. Her heart aches for both of them.

Her gauntlet tightens reflexively as she recalls one particularly brutal training session. Ra’s lets out a gurgling sound in response and it just makes her angrier. How dare he protest? Doesn’t he know he deserves this, and far more, for everything he’s done over the years?

Around them, assassins fight each other as Talia exacts her bloody vengeance for her own years of unwilling servitude and the life of freedom Ra’s stole from her. Batwoman doesn’t grudge her the victory. She still remembers the agony on that woman’s face over twenty-three years ago when she gave up her son in order to save him.

Now that Helena has children of her own—adopted or otherwise, they’re all _hers—_ she understands the woman’s sacrifice and grief on a visceral level. There’s part of her that’s cheering Talia on in her bloody quest.

Having different leadership for the League of Assassins won’t be a terrible thing, either. Talia is considerably less insane than her father, for one thing. Also, she’s likely to have a soft spot for her son.

Of course, they have to win first.

Nearby, Batman brutally dispatches the last of al Ghul’s personal guards. They crumple to the smooth stone floor in a circle around him, and Batwoman’s mind automatically catalogues their injuries. They’ll walk again, most likely. It’ll be a long while though.

Batman moves swiftly to her side, fury in every step. His razor-sharp gaze is fixed on the miserable excuse for a human being who is slowly twisting in her grip. “Why did you do this, Grandfather?” He reaches out and settles his own gauntlet over hers, using their shared grip to shake the immortal like a ragdoll. _“Why?”_

Ra’s coughs and clutches at his throat with one hand. Blood drips down his temple and stains the silver hair red. The skin around one eye is swelling from the powerful blow which stunned him and enabled her to gain the upper hand in their fight. His right arm hangs limp at his side, and both of his legs were broken in the fall when Talia threw him from his own throne. Overall, he looks like he’s been in a fight with the Bats and lost. It’s a good look, she decides.

He’s at their mercy, and Batwoman is _not_ feeling merciful. “Tell us!” she thunders as she shakes him again.

Ra’s looks at them with a fiendish, bloodstained grin, his eyes flashing a lurid green. His voice when he speaks is oily and cajoling, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to rise. “Why, Damian, I merely attempted to raise your young partner from death in order to spare _you_ the grief of losing a child. It was not _my_ fault he proved to be—unstable.” His lips draw back in a smirk, exposing yellowed teeth.

Batman shakes his head slowly. “No. No, you never cared for Timothy. You objected to my taking him into my home. You would never have chosen to extend his life without an ulterior motive—”

“Ah, but I observed you and your chosen companions for years, boy. I saw young Timothy rise to meet every challenge set before him, and I confess I was—impressed. His intellect is… stunning. It was most gratifying when the Lazarus treatment was a success. I even slew his murderer before him, as a small token of my esteem. Unfortunately, in time it became clear that the resurrection process had not entirely restored young Timothy’s cognitive functions.”

A frisson of unease runs through Batwoman. What does he mean? She’s seen the madness the Pit can bring. What happened to Tim?

Ra’s continues smoothly. “Returning him in that state would have been detrimental to you, of course, so instead I considered it most expedient to—make _use_ of him, in my own way.” He licks his lips, practically leering, and her skin crawls. Is he implying…?

Batman’s grip tightens until the bones in her hand grind together. She doesn’t think he’s aware of what he’s doing. “What did you do?” he rasps, more furious than she’s ever heard him.

“Trained him,” Ra’s says, then smirks cruelly. His voice drips with foul innuendo as he continues, “In _every_ way. You would be surprised how much stronger and more _skillful_ he is now that he’s learned his _place_ beneath me—”

His voice breaks off as his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps, going limp. Batwoman blinks, surprised. She hadn’t meant to tighten her grip. Apparently, it just happened. She can’t bring herself to regret it.

At her side, Batman appears equally stunned. He swallows, looking like he might vomit. “Did he…?”

Neither of them finishes the question. Emotional and physical torture and mental manipulation, they were prepared for. They never even considered the possibility Tim might have been abused sexually as well. Nausea threatens to overwhelm her. Her jaw clenches and her gauntlet begins to tighten ominously again as she thinks about it.

“I’ll find out,” Talia’s low voice causes them to turn. She is standing behind them, surrounded by her own supporters. All of them are splashed with blood, injured, but clearly victorious. “I swear, I never suspected his interest in young Timothy extended beyond training him as an assassin to use as a tool against you. I thought I had time to gather my forces and overthrow him. If I had realized—” She breaks off, looking sick.

Batwoman forces herself not to think about what Ra’s al Ghul implied. Tim was only seventeen when he died. She’s almost positive he was completely inexperienced sexually. If al Ghul did anything—and the more she considers his leering words, the more she fears he did—then Tim will have an even more difficult time recovering and healing from this terrible experience than she anticipated. What a nightmare for that poor boy, to wake up after dying and fall straight into this hell.

She swallows back her gorge, reminding herself she already has reason to believe al Ghul did far worse than that. After all, there’s substantial evidence Tim has killed during his years beneath the League. The kind, compassionate boy she knew is going to tear himself apart over that. Now that Ra’s is defeated, she feels helpless in the face of an enemy she can’t confront. If only she could battle Tim’s pain for him—but that is not how life works.

“You’ll deal with him?” Batwoman meets Talia al Ghul’s eyes and doesn’t flinch at the death she sees there. Bats don’t kill. But…

If there’s one thing life has taught them, it that there are some people who can’t be saved.

“Yes,” Talia says, and it’s a promise. Her dark eyes flash with something else as she turns to look at her son, full grown and taller than her now. She doesn’t look a day older than she did when she walked away from Wayne Manor all those years ago. “My child,” she whispers, then closes her eyes, wetness shimmering on her long eyelashes.

“Mother,” Batman says. “Perhaps—we could meet, at some point.” His posture is guarded, as though he expects rejection. Batwoman aches for both of them.

“I would like that,” Talia says, opening her eyes. They’re shining, and she swallows, blinking back moisture before straightening and squaring her shoulders. “Just let me clean up this mess first.” She frowns, looking apologetic. “And—I’m sorry. I saw Timothy during the battle. He told me to tell you thank you, but goodbye, and please don’t follow him.”

Batman curses softly and Batwoman reels internally. It’s not that she expected Tim would return with them easily—not after everything he’s clearly been through—but she’d hoped to at least have the chance to talk to him. To see with her own eyes that he’s here, and intact, physically if not mentally. How are they supposed to help him heal if he’s going to keep running away from them?

She turns to her brother, her heart hurting, and sees in his eyes what she already knows. They can’t chase after Tim. Considering the untold horrors he’s been through—the full magnitude of which they are only beginning to suspect—he needs to be free to make his own choice and come home when he’s ready.

If he ever is.

Thinking of the others at home, waiting and hoping, she feels another wave of sorrow. There’s no way any of them are going to handle this well. As for Jason… Well, she only hopes she doesn’t lose another child over this.

Turning back to Talia, Batwoman nods. “Thank you, Talia. We won’t forget this.” She inhales deeply, then slowly releases her breath, searching for an inner calm she knows she won’t find. Not now, and maybe not for a long time to come. “Come on,” she says to Batman, who looks lost in a way he hasn’t since their parents were gunned down before their eyes. “Let’s go home.”

He nods, glances once more at his mother, and then turns to follow her from the wrecked throne room.

At least they still have each other. She has to hope that will be enough to get them through whatever comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Damian and Helena, drawing Jason aside for a little talk:** “We’re gonna go beat up Ra’s al Ghul, you stay here and watch your little brothers! Btw Tim’s alive” *Dive into the Batplane and roar off into the night*  
>  **Jason, gaping in bewildered disbelief:** “Wait WHAT”  
>  **Ra’s, choking on blood and rapidly losing consciousness after being beaten into submission by the Bats:** *Still manages to gasp out one last awful, rapey implication about Tim before passing out*  
>  **Damian and Helena:** “GAH!” *Throw Ra’s on the ground and stomp on him for a while. It doesn’t help them feet better, but it does work their aggressions out somewhat* “You suck”  
>  **Talia, smirking evilly:** “Please, allow me” *Drags Ra’s off around the corner, shortly followed by various stabbing sounds as of violent dismemberment followed by a bonfire*  
>  **Damian and Helena, listening:** *Uncomfortably glance around, shifting from one foot to the other and trying not to look in direction Talia left* “Should we go? We should probably just go”


	8. Chapter 8

No one is surprised when Jason leaves. He expects a fight, or at least a lot of whining and guilt tripping to try to talk him out of it. Instead, every last one of his family members gives him their approval, each in their own way.

He would’ve gone anyway, of course, but it’s kind of nice to know he has their support.

Steph and Cass start it. They show up in his room while he’s packing and take turns dumping a whole slew of supplies on his bed. Steph drops an armload of miscellaneous packages that turn out to contain everything from replacement boots in his size to dark red nail polish, the special compound Tim made for her years ago that hardens strong enough to cut glass. Cass slips off a backpack that lands with a heavy thump and a suspicious clatter. She unzips the backpack and then starts pulling out what looks like more weapons than could possibly have fit in there in the first place.

Jason’s eyes widen at the sheer volume of food, possibly illegal weaponry, and gadgets which now cover his bed. It dwarfs his own meagre pile of the supplies that he has managed to pull together over the past few days. He has known he’s going to go after Tim since the minute Damian and Helena came back without him. Unfortunately, it turns out that tracking someone with Bat and League training around the world takes a hell of a lot in terms of time and resources. It’s especially hard to get everything he needs when he’s trying to hide his tracks from a house full of trained detectives.

He pokes at a pile of no less than three grapnel guns. How many do they think he needs? “What the—?”

“Bring him home,” Steph orders, finishing emptying her pockets of the last of her contributions and then leaning forward to give him a fierce hug. He hugs back on autopilot, not really sure what the hell is going on right now. Her fluffy blonde curls tickle his nose and he sneezes on them. “Gross,” she complains, clearly not really caring.

Jason snickers as she pushes him back, and then he frowns when her words catch up with him. Did they really figure him out? Shitcakes. “Uh…”

Cass nods. “Bring _you_ home, too.” She gives him a gentle hug as well, moving so fast he hardly has time to hug her back.

“Thanks?” Jason’s not sure exactly what’s happening right now, but they’re not telling him to give up on Tim, so he’s going to roll with it.

They slip from his room before he has a chance to puzzle over how the fuck they realized what he’s planning to do. Well, hopefully no one else figures it out. He’s pretty sure the rest of the family won’t handle it well if they realize he’s about to run after a trained assassin who might, possibly, be Ra’s-levels of crazy after his involuntary dip in the Pit.

It sounds pretty bad when he puts it like that. Yeah, he’s just going to have to hope that no one else catches on.

As it happens, Jason apparently sucks hard at subterfuge. Dick has been training more intensely than ever now that he’s finally allowed out on the street as Robin. When Jason heads down to the Bat Cave after Steph’s and Cass’s surprise visit, he finds the fifteen year-old hard at work training on the bars.

He frowns. Based on the giant pile of crushed water bottles on the ground nearby, he’s already been at it for a while. “Hey, Dickie, you can take it easy sometimes, y’know? You’re not going to help anyone if you overwork yourself.”

Dick glances up and flashes him a grin. “Oh, hey Jay!” He releases the bar and somersaults through the air, his ridiculous traffic-light of a costume catching the dim light in the Cave as he moves. For the thousandth time since seeing the initial sketches the kid made of his proposed costume design, Jason experiences a surge of intense gratitude to Helena for talking the idiot into wearing goddamn pants.

The teen drops to a neat landing right in front of him and salutes smartly. “I’ll look after Gotham while you’re away,” he says with a bright smile. “So don’t worry about that! Just bring back Tim. I wanna finally get a chance to meet him.”

Jason just blinks at him, stunned. Dick bounces on his toes, cracks his knuckles, then jumps straight up in the air to catch hold of a bar. He then vaults back up to the ceiling, cackling, before Jason can question him.

Huh. Okay, so he’s probably been a bit obvious about his plans. Dick is smart, but he’s inexperienced and not the best detective in the family. If _he’s_ figured it out, then it’s pretty much a given that Helena and Damian already know, too.

Well, fuck.

Jason considers that hair-raising possibility for a moment, then shrugs. He’ll deal with it when he gets there. Whistling, he heads over to the Batcomputer. If Dick’s in on his plan now, then it won’t matter if Jason does a little research on Tim’s movements. At least having more members of the family in the know will make it easier for him to use the computer instead of having to hide things from everyone all the damn time. 

Bruce and Clark show up a few minutes after he’s tracked someone who _might_ be Tim to an airport in Berlin. The six year-olds are lugging a gigantic picnic basket between them. It turns out to be loaded down with homemade energy bars and other high-energy food with a long shelf life.

Jason paws through it, feeling both confused and impressed. “What’s all of this for?”

“Julia says you’ll need these on your trip,” Bruce says with a solemn expression and a serious little nod.

“Are you going to bring us a present?” Clark vibrates in excitement, rising a few inches above the floor. Bruce rolls his eyes and pulls his brother back down to earth with the air of someone who has to do this all the time.

“I’ll try, kiddo,” Jason says with a smile, a lump in his throat. Stupid adorable kids and their stupid adorable antics. “I swear, I’ll do my best.”

Bruce nods, accepting his promise, and turns to go. Jason is so moved, he doesn’t even call the brat on the energy bars he totally palmed while Clark was floating up as a distraction. They probably planned that out together ahead of time. And hey, teamwork should be rewarded, right?

Jason is thoughtful as he drags his new food stash to his room to stack it with the rest of his haul. At this rate, he wouldn’t be that surprised if Commissioner goddamn Gordon turns up next and hands him some gear and a side of useful advice for his trip.

He barely twitches when Helena and Damian corner him in the study that evening right after dinner. Honestly, he’s almost glad that they’re confronting him now. The last thing he needs is Batman and Batwoman melting out of the shadows to yell at him while they’re all in uniform later. As Damian locks the door and then moves to sit on the wingback chair, Jason straightens and braces himself, ready for anything.

Somehow, what actually happens ends up taking him completely by surprise.

“This is for you, Jason,” Helena says as she presses a briefcase into his hands. He opens it, curious. It turns out to contain half a dozen fully established aliases, each with different citizenships and clearances that should get him into basically any country in the world.

“Whoa,” he whispers, his throat suddenly dry. He looks up. “Hels, are you—?” There’s no way they’re supporting him in this. Right? What he’s planning is dangerous as hell and has a low probability of success. He’s supposed to start his sophomore year at Gotham University in the fall, and Damian’s been making noises lately about how Jason should consider setting aside the vigilante work for a few years and try his hand at civilian life.

It’s weird when Damian has his occasional dad moments, but the attention and care always leave Jason feeling warm and safe in a way he only ever associated with his mom before. Of all the people in the world, if _Damian_ tells him directly not to go after Tim, he’s actually not sure what he’s going to do.

He doesn’t know what would feel worse—either choice seems like it would carve a wound into his heart that might never heal. 

Damian hands him a beautiful, deadly-looking kris. “Take this.” He clears his throat at Jason’s puzzled look. “It is mine, given to me by my mother when I was a child. Any League assassin must obey you while you carry it.”

Holy shit. Jason isn’t sure what exactly went down when Helena and Damian went after the League a few weeks ago, but he knows it all ended with Ra’s al Ghul missing, Talia al Ghul in power, and Tim in the wind. The League policy toward the Bats has softened considerably now that Batman’s mom is in charge of it.

Apparently, nepotism pays. He shakes his head. “What are you guys doing? Don’t you know I’m—”

“Going after Tim?” Helena finishes for him with a knowing look. “Yes, we figured that out fairly quickly. You didn’t cover your tracks very well researching his movements on the Batcomputer, and we noticed you raiding the supplies. We decided the best thing to do is support you rather than attempt to stop you and then have you sneak out underprepared and even less likely to succeed.”

Oh. Jason wills away his blush, telling himself it’s not embarrassing to be caught by Batman and Batwoman. They’re supposed to be the world’s best detectives, after all.

It’s still pretty damn embarrassing, though.

“I just have to try,” he says awkwardly.

“We know,” Damian says, reaching out to brush his hair from his forehead. “Just be safe. That’s all we ask.” He presses a kiss to Jason’s forehead, then pulls back to regard him steadily. “And come home.”

Jason nods, his throat tight. With his family’s support, he feels like he can do anything. Hell, maybe even bring Tim home.

* * *

It takes Jason two months to catch up. Tim must know that he’s been following him—there’s no other explanation for how things went down in Berlin, not to mention London and Paris. By the time Jason gets a lead on him in the Afghan Desert, of all places, he knows that his quarry is actively fleeing him.

He just wants to know _why._

Does Tim really hate him so much? The thought hurts, but Jason can accept it. After all, Tim would never have died if Jason had been able to control his own impulses, back when the Joker had Babs in that godforsaken warehouse.

Maybe Babs or Jason would’ve died, but Tim could have lived.

When he pulls his jeep up beside the other rental vehicle where it’s parked, a good distance off the main road, he half-expects to find the trail gone cold and Tim long gone by some other means of transportation. As he climbs the steep, rugged sandstone cliffs at the end of Tim’s tracks, he’s sure as hell not expecting to find him there.

Tim is just standing on a ledge, staring into a dark cave like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. Jason heaves himself onto the ledge behind Tim and then stops, unable to take another step as he stares at the back of Tim’s head. His hair is longer than before. He wonders if it still feels as soft.

Now that they’re finally here, just a few feet apart, Jason can’t find any words. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to.

“Why are you still following me? What do you _want?”_ Tim’s voice startles him. It’s the first time he’s heard it in almost four years, and he’s surprised by how goddamn little it’s changed. It sounds so achingly familiar. Tears prickle Jason’s eyes and he blinks them back. This is not the time to lose control.

He still doesn’t know what to say, what he can possibly do to make any of this _right._ So, he tells the truth, simple and unvarnished. “Just to be near you. That’s all I need. Just being here, seeing you, knowing you’re _alive—_ it makes me so happy.”

There’s something trembling in his chest. It feels a little like hope. It feels a lot like fear.

 _“Why?_ I’m—Jason. You must know I’m not the same anymore. Whoever you think you’re seeing, whatever you’re telling yourself, it’s a lie. I’m not the same guy who died.” Tim still hasn’t turned around to face him. His shoulders are tense and hands shake slightly before he fists them at his sides.

Jason just wants to hug him and never let go. He rolls his eyes. Seriously? How shallow does Tim think he is? “Well, fuck, I’m not the same guy I was back then, either!” So what if Tim’s a little more murdery than he was before? They can make it work.

“It’s not the same, Jay. What Ra’s made me _do…”_ There’s a note in Tim’s voice that makes Jason frown, his brows lowering. Something about the phrasing…

“Everyone keeps saying that. What the hell _did_ that fucker make you do?”

He knows it must’ve been something bad. After all, Ra’s is an immortal terrorist who regularly blows things up, assassinates people, and implements ridiculously complicated plans to try to severely reduce the number of people on the planet. It’s totally possible he roped Tim into some of that, and poor Tim went along with it while he was hopped up on Pit-juice and morally compromised. Still, it couldn’t have been _that_ bad. Jason hasn’t heard about the League committing any truly horrific atrocities over the past few years. No blown-up megacities or man-made pandemics, at least.

Right?

Tim is shaking all over now. He wraps his arms around his middle and curls his shoulders forward slightly, looking small. “I… don’t think I’m ready to talk about that right now.”

Jason has a sinking feeling that he’s missing something important.

“Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. If that bastard made you kill someone—or a _lot_ of someones, or if he made you do _something else—”_ Tim flinches slightly, and his movement confirms something Jason desperately doesn’t want to be true.

That fucker. If Ra’s hadn’t almost certainly been chopped into little pieces already and then burned, courtesy Talia, Jason would spend the rest of his life making sure that piece of shit _suffered._

That doesn’t matter right now, though. The only thing of any importance is the beautiful, broken man shattering before his eyes. Jason swallows, then opens his mouth and prays to whoever’s listening that he doesn’t fuck this up. “Look, you’re still Tim, and I’m still Jason, and I love you.”

He swallows, his eyes wet and stinging. He never got to tell him that, before. At least he’s gotten to speak the words, whatever happens now. He pushes everything he’s ever felt for his best friend, his partner, the man he’s always wanted so much more from, into his words and hopes like hell it’s enough. “That will never change.”

And Tim _breaks_ , his deceptively slim, strong frame shaking with a sob. He turns, and Jason finally sees his face. He looks desperate. “Jay—” One hand twitches like he’s trying to reach for him before it jerks back as though burned.

There is no force in heaven or on earth that could keep Jason from stepping forward in that moment and taking his former partner in his arms. He clutches Tim and then holds him close as he cries, hopelessly, helplessly, his face buried in Jason’s chest and hands fisted in his sweatshirt.

“I’m not okay,” Tim manages after a while, scrubbing at his face in an attempt to wipe away the tears. It’s a useless effort because they just keep coming.

“That’s fine. We can work on that.” Jason’s hands are infinitely tender as he brushes away the moisture from beneath Tim’s bright eyes. He tries not to react when he realizes with a start that they’re teal now. It doesn’t matter. None of it changes anything about how he feels. As long as Tim is willing to let him hang around, he’ll do everything in his power to help him put himself back together.

Tim sniffs loudly, blinking away tears. Then he makes a face. “Uh, I feel like I might’ve given you the wrong idea a few minutes ago. When you asked what he made me do?”

Jason can’t help it. His teeth bare in a grimace and his hands clench.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I definitely gave you the wrong idea. Look, he didn’t make me—” He breaks off, swallowing, and moves his eyes to stare fixedly at some point past Jason’s left shoulder. “Not that. I mean, he tried, but…” He lets out a shaky sigh. “I didn’t feel anything just at first when I came back, you know? It was like the whole world was wrapped in cotton. Numbed out. So when he pushed me back on the bed, I didn’t really care.”

Jason is vibrating with fury, but his voice is very, very soft when he speaks. “Tim,” he starts, and can’t continue.

“He stopped,” Tim says softly. “Didn’t even finish unbuttoning my shirt. I didn’t know why, and then after he left I realized there were tears pouring down my face. It was the first thing I really felt, after I came back.” He shrugs. “Anyway. I guess Ra’s has a heart after all, or at least crying’s a major turnoff for him. He never tried to touch me like that again.”

Thank fuck.

“I think he said something about it to Damian and Helena,” Jason admits, blinking as he slots that revelation into place. “Taunted them and made them think that he’d—” He can’t bring himself to put it into words.

Tim grimaces. “Ugh, yeah, that sounds like him. He’d definitely enjoy using something like that against them, just to turn the screw. Gross.” He lifts his gaze, and his eyes look haunted. “Look, Jay, that didn’t happen, but I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

Jason doesn’t really want to ask, but he figures it’s probably a good idea to get a handle on what level of damage they’re talking about here. Nothing Tim did while under the influence of the Pit is really his fault, but there’s no way in hell he’ll believe that, not even with a goddamn truckload of therapy. Might as well find out the worst and work from there. He takes a deep breath and looks Tim in the eye, bracing himself. “Did you kill any babies?”

Tim actually recoils in his arms, looking appalled. “What the hell? _No!”_

Well, that’s a huge relief. Jason nods, blowing out a breath, and steps it down a notch. “Okay, good. That’s great, Tim. Uh, how about any kids? Pregnant women? Nuns?” He can’t help the grin slowly growing on his face at Tim’s stunned, appalled expression.

“No? Why would you even— _no._ I killed other assassins. During my training. Jay, I _killed_ those people.” Tim looks morose again and tries to pull away. “So you see, I can never go back—”

Wait, he just killed _assassins?_ Fuck, this is going to be way the hell easier than Jason thought. He brightens, tugging Tim back in to squeeze him close in excitement. “Dude, you’re saying you just killed League assassins? Like, in a fair fight, self-defense style?”

Tim nods slowly, looking like he has no idea where Jason is going with this. Jason rolls his eyes. “Dumbass. No one would dream of blaming you for that. Hell, that’s even legally defensible in a court of law. You’ve done literally nothing wrong.”

“But…” Tim stares at him, his eyes wide like he never even considered the possibility that Jason would react to this news with anything other than judgement and rejection. “I killed, though. I can’t undo it, Jay.”

Jason shrugs. “Those guys probably killed a lot of people, too. I bet they deserved it and that by killing them you saved all their future victims.” Tim looks dubious at his reasoning, so Jason raises a brow. “Do you know anything about them? I mean, besides the fact that they were assassins.”

Tim swallows and then nods, looking sick. “Their names. I managed to get that much before I broke away from the League.”

“Well then, let’s do a little research. We can figure out what kind of people they were. If they were all monsters in human skin, would that make this a little easier to bear?” Jason would sleep easy just knowing the scumbuckets he’d killed were assassins, but Tim has always had a slightly finer moral sense than him. He’s pretty sure they can work with that, though.

“I… think so,” Tim says, blinking. “But… If they _weren’t._ I don’t think I could get past it.”

Jason pauses, processing that, then shrugs. It’s the League of goddamn Assassins—good people do not end up working for that kind of organization. He’s perfectly willing to roll those dice. “Deal. So, if we figure out the backgrounds of all the people you were forced to kill in whatever freaky little death matches Ra’s used to try to break your spirit, and they all turn out to be evil dipshits, then will you think about coming home?”

Tim’s mouth drops open slightly as Jason speaks. By the end of his impromptu little speech, Tim is laughing softly, looking surprised at his own mirth.

It’s beautiful.

“Sure,” Tim says, with a smile that flashes and disappears like quicksilver. It’s clear he doesn’t expect to ever have to follow through on his promise.

That doesn’t matter. Jason’s here, they’re finally together, and he’s not going to lose this chance. “Thanks,” he whispers, leaning down to bury his face in Tim’s hair. He never realized how much taller he’d grown until now that he actually has to reach down to embrace Tim.

“For what?” Tim asks, wrapping his arms around Jason with a soft sigh and then holding on tight.

“For coming back. For being _you._ Hell, for letting me catch up with you here. Where the fuck are we, anyway? What’s so important about some random cave in the desert?”

In his arms, Tim’s body shakes with quiet laughter. “Nothing.”

“What?” Jason must not have heard that right.

“There’s absolutely no significance about this cave,” Tim says. “I didn’t manage to shake you, no matter how many cities I tried to lose myself in. You were more tenacious than the League assassins who tried to tail me. This—” he gestures expansively over the steep rock wall and vast expanse of desert they traversed to get here, “was kind of like one last test? I figured you’d only follow me this far if you really meant it.” He shrugs. “And if you managed to stick it out to the end, I’d let you catch up.”

Jason’s so damn glad he’s good at free climbing. He breathes out a soft sigh, feeling Tim’s feather-soft hair move with his exhalation. Beyond the ledge they’re standing on, the star-studded sky stretches into infinity, but his sole focus is on the man in his arms. “Thanks,” he says again.

He’s never meant anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, secretly planning to go after Tim and bring him home:** *Tiptoes through Cave, looks both ways, begins typing furtively at Bat Computer to try to track Tim through Europe*  
>  **Everyone else:** *Burst out from under and behind Bat Computer, drop down from ceiling, crawl out from beneath chair* “Hey Jason you find him yet?”  
>  **Jason, falling out of his chair in shock:** “GAH!” *Registers what they said, blinks* “Wait what? You guys are cool with me going after Tim?”  
>  **Everyone else:** “Yep” *Stuff Jason’s backpack with awesome gear, toss him on a plane to Tim* “Yeet”  
>  **Tim, wracked with guilt about what he did while serving the League:** “Jason—you must leave now and forget about me, for I have fallen too far for you to sink to my level—”  
>  **Jason, smirking:** “Oh Timmy, I’d go down on or for you anytime” *Waggles his eyebrows* “Now, how’s about we start working through some stuff? I’m here for you” *Hugs Tim, smiles*


	9. Chapter 9

Jason looks at the data on the screen and opens his mouth to speak, then pauses. He stares at the data a while longer. “Uh… At least no one’s technically dead because of you?” That seems like a definite plus.

Tim turns to look at him, his expression slightly manic. “Jason,” he says in a deceptively soft voice, “I have spent the past _three years_ tearing myself apart with guilt over murdering these people—”

“Self-defense, not murder, Tim—”

He rolls his eyes at Jason’s interjection and rolls right past it. “And all this time, they were _alive._ Because apparently, Ra’s decided it would be awesome to mentally torture me using my own ethics as the weapon, but he wasn’t ready to actually waste six of his top assassins to do it.” He huffs, looking adorably offended and slightly murderous. “I can’t believe he revived them all using the Pit right after I killed them!”

Jason coughs, “Self-defensed them.” He stares for a second, then catches himself and looks away. He finds Tim’s murder-face way sexier than he probably should. “Yeah, Ra’s was a piece of shit who set you up.” He shrugs, feeling slightly helpless in the face of Tim’s raw emotions. He doesn’t really have the delicate touch this kind of situation probably calls for. “At least now you don’t hafta beat yourself up over it anymore, right?” He squints at the screen again. “Although if you ask me, none of these bastards was ever worth a second of your regret.”

On the screen, six profiles stare back at them, with photographs attached to lists of known and suspected crimes that seemingly go on forever. Not one of these people deserved to live—literally every single one has a warrant out in multiple countries, all of which are for crimes likely to result in the death penalty if they’re ever brought in.

As he reads through some of the specifics, he feels a curl of guilty satisfaction that at least Tim made them suffer for a while. They deserved it.

Tim blinks at the screen for a moment longer, then shrugs and slams the laptop shut. He sets it down on the end table before curling back into his corner of the hotel couch. “Fine. I feel much less guilty now—are you happy?” He folds his arms, probably trying to look stern but landing on adorably petulant instead.

Jason grins. “Are you kidding? Hell, yeah I am. Now that we’ve got that outta the way, we can focus on the important things!” With that he turns to the TV, a large screen set in a recessed wall mount nearby, and grabs the remote to start clicking through channels. “Tim, you’ve got a _lot_ of shows to catch up on. As your best friend, I consider it my duty to help.”

Tim blinks at him, then snickers and shakes his head. His shy, crooked smile is exactly the same as before. Seeing it now makes something in Jason’s chest twist with a sweet ache. “Seriously? Going from cold-blooded murder—”

“Self-defense,” Jason mutters. If he just repeats it enough, maybe he’ll eventually manage to drill that point through Tim’s stubbornness. He won’t lose any more sleep over those bastards, not if Jason can help it.

Tim rolls his eyes and continues over him, “Cold-blooded murder in _self-defense_ to—” He pauses, blinking up at the screen. “What even _is_ that? Wait, is that a new Star Trek movie?” His voice rises and he’s practically vibrating, looking so excited that Jason kinda wants to just scoop him up and hug him. Maybe kiss him a few dozen times, too. He carefully refrains from reaching for him, just in case. The last thing Tim needs is that kind of complication, not now while he’s still recovering. Maybe not ever.

Whatever. Jason is just grateful as hell to have him back. Everything else is a bonus. “Yep,” he says. “I’m ordering room service—what do you want?”

“Uh,” Tim says, then bites his lip. His lips twitch in a little smile and his expression softens. “Can we see if they have fajita cheesesteaks and chilidogs?”

Jason’s eyes sting as he’s hit by wave after wave of memories, all tinged with the thrill of rooftop chases and first love. “Yeah,” he manages after a moment, his voice thick. “Sounds good.”

* * *

Tim takes one look at the familiar silhouette of the Gotham night skyline and almost nopes out of this entire situation. The only thing that stops him is Jason’s reassuring presence at his side. “Jay,” he whispers, on edge. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

They’re standing on one of the old churches in the Upper West Side, near the Brown Bridge so they can get out of town fast if Tim decides this is too much to handle. It’s a comforting spot, in its way. He and Jason used to stop here and lean on the gargoyles while taking a break or having a snack back when they were teens and the world hadn’t ended yet for either of them. He swallows, fighting back a wave of nausea. 

It’s not just that he hasn’t set foot in this city in almost two years—not since that time he fled, too much of a coward to confront his estranged family. Against his will, his gaze tracks to the line of shadowed warehouses along the Sprang. There’s still a gap in the row. He’s not sure how he feels about being so close to the place where his life ended.

If the sick feeling twisting his stomach is anything to go by, it isn’t great.

“Okay,” Jason says simply, pressing his shoulder against Tim’s in an unobtrusive show of support. “If you want, we can turn around right now. Head back to Europe, hit up a few more museums and libraries, order room service, and catch up on some more of the shows you missed. We can take as long as you need, even if that’s forever.” He blushes slightly, but continues to regard him with a steady gaze, clearly ready to do whatever he chooses.

Tim smiles in spite of himself. The past couple of months traveling with Jason have been amazing. Just having someone with him from his old life—someone who cares, and has faith in who he is now as well as knowledge of who he was then—has been incredibly steadying. He feels like he’s finally back on an even kilter after spending a long time unable to find his balance. His years with the League are starting to gray out, losing the patina of horror and guilt that haunted him after the initial numbness of the Pit faded and he realized what he’d done.

He’s still not sure why the Lazarus Pit affected him the way it did—numbing out all of his emotions and reducing him to a terrifying kind of cold logic. As far as he knows, Pit madness usually manifests in violence and psychotic actions, most frequently accompanied by rage. Ra’s found Tim’s reaction fascinating and attributed it to whatever special quality he has that caught the immortal’s eye in the first place.

Tim wishes he could find whatever quality that is and carve it out of himself, just in case Ra’s ever manages to come back and tries to find him again.

He realizes that Jason’s gaze is growing steadily more concerned, and shakes off his introspective mood. “Uh, no. I think I’m good.” Seriously. If he has to set foot in another museum or library in the next five years, it will be too soon. Although it has been interesting to see pieces donated by his parents and try to understand them more through what they cared about.

It has also been a heck of a lot of fun to watch Jason nerd out over the literary references, which is most of why he agreed when Jason proposed a museum tour back when they were trying to decide what the heck to do with themselves. Neither of them had suggested any vigilante-related activities besides keeping themselves fit and maintaining their training regimes—Tim wasn’t ready to trust himself with that again, and Jason obviously wanted to focus on looking after him. 

The best part of the last few months has really been just spending time with Jason, honestly. He’d have been happy doing pretty much anything as long as Jason was there with him.

“Okay,” Jason says again, leaning into his shoulder a little more. “Just let me know if you change your mind. I’ll tell everyone to fuck off, no worries.”

“That would be most unfortunate, considering we have been awaiting your arrival with bated breath,” an achingly familiar voice says from right behind them.

“Fuck!” Jason spins and glares at Damian, who is standing nearby looking hesitant and out of place in his sleek business attire. Tim is glad they decided to do this in civvies—it would be next to impossible for him to face Batman and Batwoman right now. Jason is still scowling at Damian. “Seriously? Do you just not know how to move without sneaking up on people?”

Damian shrugs gracefully. “It is not my fault you are not more observant. Heaven knows, I attempted to train it into you.”

Tim’s quiet snicker draws their attention back to him. Jason looks at him in surprise as he covers his mouth, his eyes dancing as he tries unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter. “Sorry,” he says after a moment, lowering his hand to reveal a happy grin. “You guys act the same, is all.” One of the jagged pieces of his heart settles back into place at the sight of the two of them carrying on just like they used to.

Damian leans forward, his hand rising in an aborted movement. He’s staring at Tim with a pained expression. “Timothy—” he whispers fiercely. “I am so very sorry—”

Tim bites his lip and shakes his head. “None of what happened was anyone’s fault except the Joker’s, and he’s been punished. There’s nothing to regret.”

“Oh,” Damian says, a shadow crossing his face, “I do not believe I will ever find myself without regrets. Simply know, Timothy, that if there were any power by which I could take your suffering upon myself, I would do so in a heartbeat.”

“Likewise,” a low voice says behind them and they all turn to see Helena, smiling at them in her casual civilian wear. “Welcome back, Tim.” She raises her arms invitingly.

Tim only hesitates for a moment before stepping forward with a rush. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, not even sure why he’s apologizing. She shushes him and gathers him gently in her strong, steady arms. “I didn’t mean—”

“You came back,” she whispers in a choked voice, then smiles brilliantly. “Tim, it doesn’t matter what else happened between now and then. You’re _here.”_

After a while he pulls back, wiping at his eyes and sniffing. He looks at Jason, who is standing at Damian’s side watching him. He nods, letting Tim know that he’s still ready to go along with him, no matter what he chooses. That’s what gives him the strength to turn to Helena and say, “I think I’m ready to see the others.”

For some reason, he’s expecting her to set up a meeting for later. A luncheon, maybe, or a dinner with everyone at some restaurant—he’s definitely not ready to see Wayne Manor again yet, and he knows Jason already warned the others about that.

He’s absolutely not expecting Steph to come bounding out from behind a gargoyle, squealing and jumping up and down with excitement. “Tim, welcome back! We missed you _so_ much.” She rushes forward and barely waits for his nod before she wraps her arms around him, squeezing him close and then stepping back to give him space. “Oh my god, we’re still the same height! Cass, get out here—Tim can join us in our April Fools’ uniform swap this year!”

Well, that sounds ominous. Also kind of fun. Tim tilts his head, considering the logistics of cramming himself into one of the girls’ uniforms. There are some slight differences in proportion so certain areas would be a little tight, but he’s pretty sure he could make it work.

“Oh Jesus,” Jason mutters, facepalming. “Calm and quiet, she is not.”

Tim snickers, throwing him a sympathetic glance. “I know what Steph’s like. If she were acting calm and quiet, I’d be concerned. But wait, uniform swap?” This definitely wasn’t a thing when he was around before.

“You can be me,” Cass whispers, appearing between him and Jason like she just materialized there somehow. She gives him a sweet smile.

“Holy shit,” Jason says, twitching. “How do all of you guys _do_ that shit? Do Dames and Hels take you aside for lessons or something?”

“Perhaps,” Damian says with a smirk. “Are you requesting remedial lessons?”

“Hell, no, we’ve got enough creepers in this group already.” Jason snorts.

“Who’s a creeper?”

Tim turns at the sound of a child’s voice. His eyes widen when he spots Jon, landing on the roof beside them with one kid under each arm and another clinging to his back. “Wow,” Tim whispers, stunned at the sight of the twins. “You guys grew up so much.” There’s a lump in his throat as he takes in Bruce and Clark—they were toddlers the last time he saw them. When he looks at them, he feels every moment of his four years’ absence.

“Hi,” Bruce says, looking at him with his characteristic solemn, curious expression. At least that hasn’t changed.

Clark wiggles free of his dad’s arms and floats a few feet closer to hover directly in front of Tim. He stares at him for a moment, then grins. “Timmy!” He dives into Tim’s chest, little arms wrapping around him. He’s hefty for a seven year-old. Maybe Kryptonians are just extra dense. “Wanna go flying?”

“Uh…” Tim throws a slightly worried glance at Damian. Is Clark already strong enough to carry people when he flies?

Damian clears his throat. “Ah, that might not be the best idea, Clark. Perhaps another time.”

“You’re just saying that because he drops anyone who isn’t Bruce,” an unfamiliar voice says, sounding amused.

Tim turns and sees a teen standing nearby, looking slightly nervous. He’s well built, with black hair, dark blue eyes, and golden-olive skin. Dick Grayson. The teen gives him a hesitant but charming smile. “Hey there,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and bouncing on his toes. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here—I mean, it’s not like we ever met before—”

“Hi, Dick,” Tim says, a feeling of warmth suffusing him. This isn’t his replacement, someone they brought in to fill his shoes because he was disposable. This is a kid. Family. “I’m glad to finally have a chance to meet you.”

There’s a moment of silence as he starts to feel a little overwhelmed, surrounded by everyone and all their smiling, hopeful faces. Tim turns to look for Jason, wondering if it would be rude to call it for tonight and try again another time. This is a lot.

“Timothy,” a warm voice says and he spins, his eyes going wide in shock.

“Julia?” He can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Julia Pennyworth, bastion of dignity and sensibility, is standing on a windy Gotham rooftop, looking entirely at ease with her situation. She’s older, of course—god, she'll be fifty in a couple of years. Her face is more lined, she’s finally starting to go gray, and she’s considerably thicker through the middle, but her caring smile is the same as ever.

“My dear boy,” she says, and opens her arms. For the third time tonight, Tim steps into a hug. He sighs, surrounded by people who care about him. He feels entirely safe for the first time in a long while. 

“I missed you,” he whispers, not sure whom he’s talking to.

She tightens her arms around him and then steps back, sniffing briskly. “And I you, young man.” She wipes at one eye delicately, then grimaces, reaching for her middle. “So much, in fact, that I delayed my journey to the hospital in order to come and see you tonight.”

“Wait, what?” Jason looks concerned, as does everyone else. “Jules, are you okay?”

“I am quite well, Jason—I am merely going to be welcoming a new child to the family soon. Within the next twenty-four hours, I suspect.” With this calm admission, she throws the entire scene into chaos.

Holy shit. “Wait, what?” Tim can’t seem to process what she just said. It sounded a little like— “You’re having a _baby?”_ His voice squeaks embarrassingly.

Julia gives him an amused smile. “You know, you returned in the nick of time. I was planning to name him after you, before. I suppose now I shall have to fall back on an old family name. Jarvis for my father seems too old-fashioned. Alfred, perhaps, after my grandfather.”

Poor kid. Neither of those choices is good. Tim should’ve waited a little longer to come back. Oh well. He makes a mental note to be extra nice to young Alfred when he comes along, to make up for the whole name thing.

He eyes her again. Well, that does explain the thickened middle. Although… “Uh, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been out of the picture for a while so I have no idea what’s going on. Who’s the, uh, lucky man?”

Julia twinkles at him, raising a playful brow. “Why, Jim Gordon, of course. Surely someone guessed?” She glances around, apparently taking great delight in the sight of everyone’s gobsmacked faces. Snorting, she shakes her head. “World class detectives, indeed. I have been stepping out with him for a decade now!” Still shaking her head, she begins walking carefully toward the roof access stairs.

“Ah, Julia, please allow me to accompany you—” Damian manages to recover from his initial shock enough to dart after her. He steadies her carefully with a hand on her arm and throws Helena a panicked glance.

Helena rolls her eyes. “I think I’d better go along and help. We’ll be seeing you around?” She looks at Tim, banked hope in her level expression.

He nods, smiling. “Yeah. I think… I’m going to stay in Gotham for a while.” He watches as Helena grins and then jogs to follow her brother and the woman who raised them both. Cass looks from Jason to Tim, then takes Steph’s hand and pulls her away with a warm smile and a satisfied nod.

Tim blinks after them for a moment and then turns to see Jon gathering up the kids again, scooping a twin up under each arm as Dick climbs up on his back. “Take care of each other, boys!” he calls, taking off into the sky. The kids all wave and call out their goodbyes as he flies away.

Tim and Jason just stand there for a moment, slightly startled at being left alone so quickly. Actually, everyone took off surprisingly fast. Tim eyes Jason with growing suspicion. “That seemed like a coordinated move there at the end. Did you guys plan that or something?”

Jason looks down, scuffing at the rooftop with one sneaker. “Uh, yeah. Not the Julia having a baby thing—I had no fucking clue about that. Jesus, _Alfred._ What a name. Poor brat. Anyway, I figured even if you ended up going through with meeting everyone tonight, you wouldn’t want it to go longer than about twenty minutes. So I talked things out with Helena and Damian beforehand. I guess they told the others.” He looks up, a worried expression on his handsome face. “Sorry if I overstepped—”

“It was perfect,” Tim says with a smile, shaking his head. “I was getting a little overwhelmed. Thanks.” His mind is too full right now, busily running through everything that just happened. He feels like he has a family again—one that’s apparently about to grow. Julia Pennyworth having a baby with Jim Gordon is not something he ever saw coming. Well, at least he can comfort himself with the knowledge that apparently no one else picked up on it either.

“Hey, you wanna grab a bite?” Jason bumps his shoulder companionably. “Maybe check out one of the old food trucks?” He flashes a lopsided grin. “I’d offer to buy you a coffee, but that’s probably the last thing you need right now.”

Tim tilts his head. Coffee actually sounds amazing. “Maybe a decaf?”

Jason nods, chuckling, and reaches out a hand. Behind him, the Gotham skyline stretches to the stars. Somehow, it doesn’t look quite so scary anymore.

Tim takes his hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, back in Gotham to face the music:** “Uh, I’m not sure this is such a good idea—” *Tries to turn around, walks directly into Damian*  
>  **Damian, smiling gently:** “Timothy, welcome home”  
>  **Tim, panicking:** *Attempts to flee, slams into Helena and then realizes he’s entirely surrounded by his loving family* “Oh god”  
>  **Steph:** “We missed you, bud” *Initiates group hug*  
>  **Tim, fighting it at first but then gradually going limp as familial love suffuses into him through osmosis:** “I missed you guys. But, uh, can we stop hugging soon? I can’t breathe”  
>  **Julia, from somewhere in the middle of the group hug:** “My water just broke”  
>  **Everyone else, springing back to avoid the splash zone:** “Holy shit!” *Immediately descend into flurry of activity, carrying Julia off to give birth*  
>  **Tim and Jason, left to their own devices:** *Stare deeply into each other’s eyes, then speak at the same time* “Chilidogs and cheesesteaks? Oh, hell yeah”


	10. Chapter 10

Tim stretches his arms high in the air, arching his back, and then relaxes into the couch with a deep sigh. He closes his laptop and nudges it to one side before he glances up and notices Jason. He is standing in the doorway to their apartment, a bag of groceries held in one arm and what looks tantalizingly like takeout from Tim’s favorite Thai restaurant tucked under the other.

“Oh, hey there,” Tim says, twitching his fingers in a lazy wave. “I’d get up and help, but I’m actually not sure I can move right now.”

Jason rolls his eyes and snorts, finally stepping forward to enter the room. He kicks the door shut behind himself and strides over to the kitchen, where he begins to efficiently put away the groceries. “You get no sympathy from me. It’s your own damn fault for offering to babysit those hellions.”

“Don’t talk that way about your little brothers,” Tim says as he draws his legs up onto the couch. He reorients himself so that he’s curled on his side, facing the kitchen so he can watch Jason moving around the room. Even doing something as prosaic as putting away groceries, Jason is gorgeous, his thick, toned body moving with a predatory grace. He zones out for a minute staring before he remembers that he was in the middle of saying something. Whoops.

He clears his throat. “Or do you mean Alfred? I only got to hold him for like a minute—that baby is the cutest thing and I had to literally fight both Cass and Dick for a chance to even hold him. If you mean Bruce and Clark, they’re adorable. Although yes, they are also _monsters._ Why do I not remember Clark having heat vision? Did he always have heat vision?”

Jason freezes, standing in front of the open fridge with one hand on the door and the other holding a jug of milk suspended in the air. The muscles in his back are tense and Tim winces, recalling too late how much it upsets the other man whenever they encounter one of the occasional glitches in Tim’s memory.

He’s not sure whether the glitches are related to the trauma of his death and resurrection, some property of the Pit itself, or even a result of natural forgetting that would have happened as he aged regardless. Either way, whenever he doesn’t remember something from before, it’s like stumbling over a gaping hole that randomly opened up in the conversation.

“No,” Jason says after a moment, unfreezing and resuming putting the milk away. “That ability just came in a couple years ago.” He glances over his shoulder with a teasing grin, apparently recovered from whatever distress he was feeling a moment ago. Tim still feels guilty. “You should’ve seen it the first time he knocked down a stalactite in the Bat Cave with his heat vision. It fell right on the damn Batmobile. Damian looked so personally offended—it was hilarious.”

“Was he _driving_ the Batmobile at the time?” Tim asks cautiously. “Because I could maybe see where he was coming from, in that case.”

Jason shakes his head, kicking the fridge closed. He scoops up the takeout along with a couple of plates stacked with forks and napkins, and then carries everything over to Tim. “Naw, he was just getting into the suit. Helena and Jon told him that Clark was trying to ask for more time with his Papa.” He sets the food out on the coffee table and hands Tim a plate. “Here, I got you the stupidly spicy stuff you love so much.” He shoves one of the cartons of food closer.

“It’s not that bad,” Tim says, his mouth already watering as he reaches for the chicken pad prik. He grabs a fork and starts eating directly out of the carton. “So good,” he mumbles, mouth full of deliciousness.

“Heathen,” Jason complains without heat. “You could at least use the damn plate.” He carefully serves himself from all of the other cartons, arranging everything on his plate like a work of art.

Tim snorts, then coughs when he gets some chilli up his nose. Ow. “What? It’s not like anyone else is going to eat any of this. I’m saving us from having to do more dishes later.”

Jason rolls his eyes and then nudges Tim’s hip, silently requesting more room on the couch. Tim obligingly lifts his legs, then flops them down gently on Jason’s lap once he sits down. Jason balances his plate on top of them and sighs happily before starting to eat.

Once they’ve both satisfied their initial hunger, Jason glances over at Tim’s laptop, then raises a questioning brow. “Is that…?”

Tim blushes and looks away, swirling his fork around in the near-empty carton. “I was going to tell you once I signed up for classes,” he mumbles. At the continued silence, he darts a glance over at Jason, then freezes.

Jason is grinning, his face lit up like it’s Christmas day and Santa brought him a whole truckload of chilidogs. “You’re—you wanna go to school with me?” He looks so excited, boyish and younger than his twenty-one years.

Tim never wants to look away. “Uh, yeah,” he says after a moment, then clears his throat. “I decided to give college a shot. I mean, I’ve got a chance to decide what to do with my life now that I’m getting it back on track.”

“That’s awesome, Tim. I’m really proud of you. Only…” Jason hesitates, his brows lowering in thought. “Do you even have a high school diploma?” He sounds hesitant, like he doesn’t want to throw a wrench in Tim’s plans.

Tim shrugs. “I do now. It wasn’t that hard to make one for myself. It just says I was homeschooled my final year. I mean, it’s not really a lie, right? I’ve spent the past few years studying things. My education was just—”

“A little… eccentric?” Jason offers, wincing slightly.

“Yeah, eccentric!” Tim nods eagerly. After all, it wasn’t _all_ assassin training. There were also lessons in world history, diplomacy, languages, subterfuge, infiltration, sabotage, poisoning—well, okay. It was mostly assassin training. “Anyway, once Helena got my death declaration officially reversed, I figured I’d take advantage of my new legal status.”

It feels good to officially be Tim Drake again. Although it’s a little concerning how easy it apparently is to overturn a death certificate in Gotham. Then again, bizarre things happen all the time in this city. He probably shouldn’t be surprised they actually have a form for spontaneous resurrection, to be filed in triplicate with the City and submitted with the listed fee. For a few minutes of work and the price of a decent pizza, he’s legally alive again.

“That’s pretty great,” Jason says, lightly rubbing Tim’s ankle. “We probably won’t have any classes together, but maybe we can meet up for lunch and during breaks.”

“Sounds good to me.” Tim bites his lip, wondering if he should bring up something that’s been on his mind for a while now. It would be so easy to just drag a blanket over them, turn on a show, and try not to think about it for a while longer. Looking at Jason’s kind, handsome face, he realizes that wouldn’t be fair to him. He clears his throat and then forces himself to speak. “Uh, if you want me to move out—”

Jason whips his head to stare at him, his face slack with surprise. He looks gobsmacked. “Wait, what? Why the hell would I want that?”

Tim shrugs, putting down the empty food carton and then picking at a loose thread on his sweats so he doesn’t have to meet Jason’s eyes. “Well, it made sense that you offered to move in together when we first came back to Gotham. It worked. You were able to keep an eye on me, and I’ve been able to adjust to being back here so much easier than if I were living in Wayne Manor, trying to fit myself back into a life that ended.” He lifts his gaze. “But I know I’ve probably been a burden to you all this time. And now that I’m doing well enough to start school, I can probably make it fine on my own if you want some space—”

“Why the fuck would I want that?” Jason is staring at him with an expression of bewildered disbelief. “Tim, I literally chased you to the ends of the earth to bring you home. In what world does that mean I want more goddamn _space?”_

When he puts it like that, it does sound a little suspect. “So you don’t mind having me around all the time?” They already live together and train together. Tim has even started going out on patrol as Crow a couple of times a week over the past month, and Shrike is always right there at his side. “Don’t you get tired of me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability that makes him want to take his words back, but it’s too late.

Jason just shakes his head, looking at him with a soft expression that makes him feel tender and exposed. His hand squeezes Tim’s ankle lightly. “Look at it this way, Tim—you’re stuck with me all the time, too. Do _you_ ever get tired of having me around?”

“God, no.” It slips out before Tim is able to think about it. What a ridiculous suggestion. How could he possibly ever not want Jason to be around? He blushes as comprehension hits. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Jason rolls his eyes again, smiling. “Dork.”

“You’re a dork.” It’s true, although Jason’s technically more of a lit nerd.

“Oh yeah?” Jason grins, his eyes lighting up ominously, and Tim has no time to react before his partner’s strong fingers are tickling his feet.

He yelps, then convulses with laughter and tries to pull them away. Jason is fiendishly strong and way too adept at finding all the places where Tim is ticklish. “Oh my god, why are you so strong?” Tim wiggles and twists and manages to dig his own bony fingers into Jason’s ribs. That’s always been his weak point.

“Shit—” Jason pants with laughter and squirms, trying to escape Tim’s relentless fingers. “Fuck, why the hell did I start this again?” He gives up on counter attacking and goes on full defense, wrapping his beefy arms around his own middle protectively. His bulging muscles provide a decent shield. Nice try.

Tim just wiggles in around them, snickering wickedly. “The best part is, you brought this on yourself.” He manages to wiggle his fingers under Jason’s shirt, where he lightly trails his fingertips along the skin just below his belly button, grinning as he feels those firm muscles twitch.

Jason is already wheezing with silent laughter. “Jesus Christ—” He uncoils himself in desperation and wraps his arms around Tim instead, lying back on the couch and pulling him down on top, his arms pinned at his sides.

He could probably wiggle his way free, but this feels really good. Tim sighs and then relents, allowing himself to go lax. Jason feels amazing. “You’re a good pillow,” he murmurs, tucking his face into Jason’s shoulder and smiling.

Jason’s warm hands stroke up and down his back. “I do my best.” After a minute, he starts to squirm. “Uh, sorry, Tim, but I should probably—” He starts to gingerly lift Tim off of himself.

Tim frowns, not liking the way this is going. “But I’m comfy,” he complains, clinging and going deadweight so that he collapses back on top of Jason. Mmm, pillow. Although now something’s poking him— _oh._ “Is that a weapon in your pocket?” he asks cautiously. With Jason, you never know.

“Oh god,” Jason whimpers, putting his hands over his face. “No, it’s not a fuckin’ weapon,” he mumbles, voice muffled by his own hands.

They both pause while Tim absorbs the full import of what he just said and Jason grows steadily redder.

“I mean,” Tim says, a grin slowly spreading on his face, “It kind of _is_ a weapon for fucking _,_ if you first posit that love is a battlefield—”

“God damnit, Tim!” Jason drops his hands, looking at him indignantly despite the cute blush that’s spread across his cheeks and even to the tips of his ears. This close, it makes it easy to see the light freckles high on his cheekbones. “Stop talking about my erection in the same sentence you quote a rock ballad. Actually, stop talking about my erection at all. It’s embarrassing! It’s awkward as hell caring about you this much, not knowing if you’ll ever be interested, or want—” He breaks off, looking upset.

Tim wiggles, shifting just enough to make it very clear that Jason is not the only one in this situation.

“Oh,” Jason says, his voice hoarse. “You…?”

“I really wasn’t sure if you were interested in me in that way anymore,” Tim admits, feeling free and happy now that he knows Jason still wants him. He can’t seem to stop smiling. “I mean, we kissed _once_ when we were teenagers, and it was _amazing,_ but then everything got derailed by my untimely death—”

“Wait, you remember the kiss?” Jason looks stunned but delighted. “I was sure that was one of the things you forgot. I mean, it happened really close to when you got killed, so it would make sense if you lost that memory.” He lets out a shaky breath. “All this time, I’ve had no idea what you wanted. All I knew was, if anything was ever gonna happen between us again, I had to let you make the first move.”

Of course. Tim should have considered the likelihood that Jason would never want to potentially make him uncomfortable by expressing his interest. Not after everything he’s been through.

Tim rests his hands on Jason’s broad chest and looks at him, allowing his gaze to travel over his handsome, rugged face. From his black curls to his smiling blue eyes to the way his lips twitch in a crooked, embarrassed grin under Tim’s stare, every part of him is familiar and precious. A sweet wave of affection and happiness wells up within him and he smiles, slowly leaning down.

“Good to know,” he whispers, a moment before their lips meet in their second kiss.

Jason lets out a soft whimper, his hands tightening but still infinitely careful where he’s holding him. He surges up, chasing his lips, and Tim groans at the thrilling feel of Jason moving against him.

A surge of joy fills him, stunning him with its strength. He hasn’t felt like this since _before._ For a long time, he didn’t think he was capable of feeling joy at all anymore. Well, apparently he is. He _does._

“I’ve always loved you,” he says simply after they pull back, both of them grinning and panting for breath. “I knew it when we kissed that night, and I knew it when I came back—at least, on an intellectual level. I think it might be why I cried, that time with Ra’s.” He stops talking for a moment as Jason growls and presses kiss after kiss to his mouth, cheeks, eyes, and temples.

“That shoulda never happened,” Jason whispers, trailing more soft, lingering kisses along his jaw. “I’m so sorry, Tim. It was all my fault—” Tim recoils, horrified, as a dam within Jason seems to loosen and words of old grief and guilt pour free in a torrent of self-recrimination. “I was the one who jumped into that damn warehouse, and I’m the one who shoulda paid the price. Not you,” Jason says fiercely, his face twisting. “Everything that ever went wrong for you after that—that’s all on me.”

Tim stares down at him for a long moment, blinking. What the hell? Has Jason really been carrying the weight of feeling responsible for what happened for all these years? It seems impossible, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that of course Jason would put everything on himself. He’s horrified and distressed at the thought that Jason’s been blaming himself all this time. It’s not healthy. Worse, it’s actually _wrong._

“Jay, _no._ None of what happened was your fault. It was Joker’s. We weren’t prepared for the situation we found ourselves in. I’ve run scenario after scenario in my mind over the years, and studied the records of the trap Joker laid out along with detailed schematics of the warehouse and the bomb. It was a no-win situation, Jason. There was literally no solution that night in which all of us made it out of there unscathed.”

“But I’m the one who jumped in—”a

“If you hadn’t, _Babs_ would have died, choking on fear gas and smoke. Did you know the Joker had a camera set up in there? Commissioner Gordon was watching. He would’ve seen everything. He would have had to watch her die.” Tim stares at Jason, hoping he’s getting through.

Jason blinks, looking stunned. Apparently he didn’t know those details. Tim is not surprised. Damian and Helena would have shielded him from what they could. Jason shakes his head stubbornly. “Still, I should’ve—”

“Trust me,” Tim whispers, curling himself over the other man’s larger body. “It was never going to end well. And… I don’t regret it. I’ve _never_ regretted helping get you and Babs out of there alive. I’ve never blamed you, so _please_ stop hurting yourself with this. We’re both here now. That’s what’s important, right?”

Jason’s entire body shudders and he nods once, quickly, then sniffs and wipes at his eyes. “Yeah, fine. I’ll do my best.”

Well, that’s all Tim can ask, really. “Thanks, Jay.” He leans down to press another careful, tender kiss to Jason’s cheek.

“Idiot, you missed,” Jason murmurs with a crooked grin before claiming his lips again. Asshole.

Tim loves him so damn much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jason, bursting into apartment bearing spicy Thai:** “Honey, I’m home”  
>  **Tim, somehow taking entirely the wrong message from this:** “Btw I’m getting better, so I can move out now if you want” *Droops sadly*   
> **Jason, baffled and incredulous:** “The fuck gave you that idea? My obvious devotion to you? The undying love? Fuck, it was the undying love, wasn’t it?”  
>  **Tim, so confused:** “Uh… Wait, you’re in love with me? Yay! That makes my burning love for you a billion times less awkward!” *Reaches for Jason and Thai food, alternates between kissing Jason and taking bites of spicy Thai*  
>  **Jason, torn between ecstatic happiness and the desire to go chug a gallon of milk:** “So spicy, why—it burns, how the fuck can you eat this oh my god” *Continues kissing Tim anyway, gradually learns to love the spice* “I think I just discovered a new kink”  
>  **Tim, snickering:** “I’m looking forward to exploring this with you” *Stares deeply into Jason’s eyes as he take another bite of spicy*  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and thanks to the excellent mods over at Jaytim Week for all their hard work! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for being a supportive place while I was writing this. I may be more likely to lurk than participate much, especially when life is stressful, but it’s really lovely to have a community like this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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